#when I did I could not for the life of me point you to why and how

[vamp-ress]

I feel this so much. I miss forums. I even miss yahoogroups (or rather mailing lists in general).

I've tried Discord and I just can't. I look at it, wonder how I'm supposed to navigate and find anything there and then I feel old. I feel old because I find Discord overly complicated. It's not user-friendly. It's not easy to handle. And I'm simply at a point in my life where I don't have the time (or the patience) to spend endless nights trying to understand how a certain thing works. It either works or it doesn't, but I'm not twenty anymore and I won't waste two hours of my life to get a Wordpress plugin to work - something that I found truly enjoyable in my youth.

In mailings lists especially you could join in a conversation anytime. You could have actual conversations. On Discord, when you're in a different timezone from everyone else, you look at a thread and think "oh, that's an interesting discussion" and when you get to the end, people are talking about something else entirely. It just feels like everyone at the table was having a beautiful conversation while you were in the kitchen doing the dishes. It sucks and it's not fun.

I tried Discord for a while, I really did. I joined the @ficwip Discord a while back, even though I never participated in any of the events and challenges. If you're looking for something writing-related, I would recommend that Discord. There are a lot of people of varying backgrounds there and you'll always find someone able to help you with a research question or the phrasing of a sentence. But it's huge and I found it daunting. I had about half of the channels muted and I still couldn't keep up with what was going on there. When someone said a few nice things about what @astolat accomplished for the entirey of fandom that person was rebuffed with "we don't worship BNFs here" (or some such). Everyone is entitled to make up their own rules (don't get me wrong - about 98% of the Ficwip rules are absolutely reasonable and in fact very old-school, I totally approve). I found it silly that this person was told off for something that was basically nothing more than a compliment and that moment was the last nail in my Discord-coffin. I left the channel, left the other two channels I had join but had subsequently never used and I haven't looked back. It's not my kind of thing.

Maybe I should get into Reddit. Then again, whenever I look at Reddit I get anxiety. Why is it so ugly? So terrible? Why is a forum in 2025 so basic and off-putting? Why is it designed to give me headeaches from text overload? Why is the font so tiny? Why does the navigation suck so much? Have you seen forums from the early 2000's? They're peak civilisation. Why does something like this not exist anymore?

imo a discord server should be like a breakout room for fandom. like the place to run your wips by your besties or discuss your otp in more detail with a few people who were insane about it on your post or organise events with a handful of trusted mutuals etc etc. if it’s where ALL the fandom activity is going to happen it will inevitably foster a cliquey environment where the fandom is divided into “those in the server” and “those who aren’t”, lurking is disincentivised if not made outright impossible, people who feel uncomfortable joining in conversations and would rather interact with fandom through reblogging etc are largely excluded because there’s no repost mechanism, and the fandom itself becomes an enclosed space so new fans are limited in how much content and meta they can access without having to make the plunge into Joining The In Group, there’s limited scope for interaction between different communities within the same fandom, god it’s just an altogether dogshit stupid idea. what if we moved all fandom activity to really massive private groupchats. STUPID

[ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat]

taking advantage - s reid x fem!reader

reader gets over her breakup by getting under her very worried coworker - pt 2 of legally single

genre: smut wc: 2k warnings: convincing to have sex, emotionally fragile reader, coping with sex, spencer can't say no, handjob, f receiving oral, unprotected piv, reader on birth control

His Converse step through the barrier and into your apartment. Your empty apartment. The way he looks at you almost like an apology crumbles his stoic exterior. If only he could just throw away that boy next door personality and be a guy. You wish he would just take advantage of your vulnerability and give you another reason to hate yourself.

Only, it’s Spencer. He’s too good for that.

He whispers your name softly like, if he startled you, you’d fragment. It’s not like you’re a child. You know what you want.

“Why did you want me here?” Spencer asks.

You take a few steps closer and look up at him. “I don’t know.”

All he does is nod before sighing the start of a goodbye, “I think I should go.”

He turns to leave like a father would if your life was a movie. It makes you scramble for any excuse to get him to stay for even one second more. The only syllables that your mind seems to be able to conjure up are pathetic and worthy of venomous laughter.

“Please stay!”

You can hear the laugh track.

With his hand reached out towards the doorknob, he stops. Frozen in time, the only sound is the pitter patter of your fragile heart. “Please?”

He turns to search your features—your smudged mascara, sparkly lips, and glass eyes. And he caves.

“Okay,” he whispers.

The silence coerces you cruelly to speak.

“We broke up.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” His eyes are sympathetic but somehow hurtful.

The way you look down at your heels compels him to take a step forward. “You know he doesn’t deserve you, right?”

“What?” you look up. You don’t think you’ve ever been this close to each other.

“You’re one of the best people I know.”

“I am?”

Vulnerability shines through your gaze and he can see it. He reminds himself to tread carefully.

“You are,” he nods sincerely.

Your head lifts until your nose brushes his. Spencer’s eyes widen. He tells himself that this isn’t okay, that he’s taking advantage of you and he should be at home.

You mutter softly, “so are you.”

When people compliment you, you say, “thank you.”

But what you don’t do is let them kiss you after. And you definitely don’t kiss back. But he does.

But it’s wrong, he knows. You’re hurt, heartbroken, he can’t be toying with your tarnished heart like it’s nothing.

His lips part before his body catches up to his thoughts. In a quick motion, you’re without his touch again. Even though it’s for the best, it sucks.

“What are you doing?” Spencer sighs.

“I just really—”

“I should go. I don’t want to make any more mistakes.”

You scoff. “Mistakes?” 

“You’re not in a good state.” His hand raises as if to make a point. “I’m not going to take advantage of that!”

Without another thought, you cry, “you’re not taking advantage if I want it!”

It clicks within a second that you actually might want to do more than just kiss him tonight.

So he asks cautiously, “what does that mean?”

Like any other stressful situation, you try to run. “Nothing.” But the squeak in your voice proves the sentiment false.

“Why did you invite me up?” he asks, firm almost like he could command you with the same tone. 

“I don’t know!”

The words hang in the air between your bodies, heavy with what’s left unsaid.

And that’s when you can feel the stone wall crumble to the ground with all of his reservations. Spencer’s eyes, swallowed whole by his pupils, soften into an understanding pity. You make your move again but he doesn’t stop it. He leans into it. Your lips meet hungrily, your hands tangling in unruly curls. One backward step at a time pulls him closer to your bedroom. Determined fingers push his jacket to the floor. The door of your room is clicked shut by his back when you urge him against it. 

It’s only now that his hands finally find your face. He leans down to twist your tongues together. He kisses you like he’s desperate or starving. Something you never had with your ex. When he kissed you it was for only the reason that he should. With Spencer it’s because he wants to. He wants to feel the vibration of your whimpers against his swollen lips. Which confuses you, your brain muddling into a mess of questions about your coworker. 

For example, has he always wanted this?

What if every time your eyes met across the round table, he was thinking about this? What if the whole time he was imagining swallowing your tongue into his mouth? What if he was picturing kissing you in a way that would screw you up for the remainder of your life?

What if his fantasies went further than that?

His large hand squeezes your waist firmly, pushing every what-if out of the way to make room for what’s about to happen. Because everyone knows you can’t move forward if you keep looking back.

You loosen his tie and pull it over his head. “Are you sure?” Spencer asks. Something about him makes everything he says come out like a whisper from the Gods—pure, with all-good intentions and completely genuine. You know your words should be the same way but, for right now, you just know you want him. What you’ll think tomorrow doesn’t matter.

And so an answer doesn’t come. At least, not an answer in words. Your response comes in the form of another kiss. This time a softer one.

It goes against everything he stood for at the opening of the night—what he believed before he stepped into your apartment. The argument is irrefutable, however. The moment he saw that look in your eyes, he couldn't say no. It was the shine in them and the redness under them.

It was the way you begged him with only a look.

How could he ever imagine giving you anything but exactly what you want?

Your hands run down the fabric of his shirt. One button at a time, you undress him down to his boxers. You decide he’s taking too long to return the favour, so you do it yourself, letting your dress fall to the floor.

Spencer stands in front of you in nothing but underwear and you look up at him in the same. You pull him close, tugging him to the bed with you. He lands on top.

Manicured nails softly scratch down his stomach. He visibly twitches in response. You push his boxers down just enough to bare him.

Not that you ever doubted, but his size does surprise you. Spencer’s an above average length. While his girth is nothing to tell the pope about, you’re impressed.

You look up at him with a bitten bottom lip and wrap your hand around the base. His eyes flutter shut as he lets out a whimper. When you smile with amusement, he shuts you up with a kiss. You swipe your thumb across the tip of his cock to pull a moan from him. Except he ruins your fun with his big hand covering yours.

“You have to stop if you want me to…” he nods downward.

You just agree. It’s hard to argue. Especially when he starts kissing down your neck.

Then chest.

Then stomach.

Until he’s right at where your underwear starts.

His head lifts so his big brown eyes can find your clouded ones. “Can I take these off?”

“Yeah,” you mutter breathily.

The fabric is carefully slid down your legs before his lips start moving up them. He gently lays pecks to your inner thighs, each one higher than the last. Heavy sighs tell him that he can continue upward. He presses a soft kiss to your clit and gauges your reaction.

He takes your parted lips as a sign that he’s doing something right.

He starts by licking from the bottom to the top and then taking your clit into his mouth. Waves of pleasure shoot straight through you. You realize now that you haven’t had an orgasm in a while.

It’s very obvious in how, from just a little suction from his lips, you already feel close to that ledge.

“Spencer, I’m gon—” you moan.

Instead of stopping or panicking and changing rhythm, he slides a finger into you. His mouth continues on your clit in the same way. His finger matches the pace while you squirm.

You throw your head back against the bed with a whimper. Your mouth hangs open, your chest rising with each attempt of a breath. The throbbing between your legs gets worse until it turns into pure ecstasy spreading from your pussy to your stomach.

It hits you almost without warning. Spencer doesn’t seem surprised or stop when he notices you’re done. Rather, he works you through it. His actions soften but persist. He doesn’t stop until he sees he’s made you sensitive to touch.

Your body buzzes. Spencer starts back up your body sloppily. He finds your parted lips with his own and slides his tongue in effortlessly. That’s when the sensitivity subsides—or maybe you just can’t take it anymore—so you reach for his boxers and pull them down the rest of the way.

Spencer freezes to whisper, “I don’t have contraceptives.”

“I’m on birth control,” you say with too much enthusiasm.

“Are you sure? Birth control is really only 91% effective without pulling out.”

The most Spencer thing ever. 

“I’m sure, Spence. Please?”

You look up at him and, once again, he can only seem to imagine one possible answer to your question. “Yes, ma’am.”

Maybe you should feel bad for how every decision made tonight has been because you convinced him to make the decision. Something should be stopping you. Maybe your breakup or your current state of denial.

But all you can think about is getting your coworker inside you.

He settles himself right at your entrance. A silent exchange between the two of you occurs. It goes like this:

Spencer says, “tell me you won’t regret this.”

You reply, “how could I? It’s you.”

But what gets left out is it’s him. You’re going to regret this.

He stretches you out, inch by inch. Your walls accommodate him in whole, nothing like the other guys you’ve been with. Again, you find he’s big.

The last inch hits your cervix and sends a moan tumbling from your lips. He controls the muscles of his mouth to not smile.

He was never an egotistical man. Sure, he took pride in his knowledge but after so many times of being told “I’m sorry I asked,” he stopped taking so much. Something that did feel good, though, was knowing that he could please you. Especially in ways that he’s sure your ex couldn’t.

So when he feels you clench around him, it starts to worry him how much he’s holding back. But with one word, he gives in.

“More.”

His hips snap forward to set a pace that will lead you both to what you’re craving. And then whatever comes after.

The sound of skin and heavy breaths melts your brain to a puddle of goo. The tip of his cock bumps your cervix in a steady rhythm. A rhythm that makes your eyes roll back and your thighs shake. His pants hit the side of your neck along with low grunts and whines. You think how vocal he is is what pushes you over the edge.

Your stomach tenses as your orgasm runs through you. Tiny contractions flutter the walls of your cunt. You feel him throb before he very quickly pulls himself out of you. With your legs wrapped around his waist, he finishes where he can. White hot drips down your naval.

In only a few seconds, the fog lifts. You look down at your naked body intertwined with your coworker’s. This happens to people a lot, you’re sure. The only logical response comes to you.

The only logical response that won’t lead to a meeting with HR.

“This didn’t happen.”

Everything in him says to fight you, that you could be something good. You could be what he sees in his mind when someone says love.

But, when you say something, he agrees.

“Okay.”

[cipheress-to-k-pop]

love next door (m.r.)

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Word Count: 15.9k (UM THESE JUST KEEP GETTING LONGER)

Summary: Your next-door neighbor in a London apartment… Mattheo Riddle? Yeah, didn’t see that coming either.

A/N: yall ik i say this for every fic but honest to god i do not like this fic it was really better in my head i swear😭

credits to @saradika-graphics for the dividers!

Most muggleborns spend their lives running toward magic.

After living without it for the first eleven years of their lives, they’re all too eager to lose themselves in a world of spells and enchantments. They trade in double-decker buses and arbitrary chores for castles full of ghosts and a life that feels, at first, like ease. Once you’ve flown a broomstick or charmed a kettle to sing, it’s hard to imagine settling for anything less.

The journey usually only goes one way — from the world of the ordinary to the world of the impossible. Usually.

You moved back to the muggle world shortly after the war ended, wanting to put a great deal of distance between yourself and everything magical. There were a multitude of reasons for that.

To begin with, you wanted to be closer to your family. The war had loomed like a shadow over everything for so long, and when you came so close to losing them, it made you realize just how much you’d taken them for granted. You lived with them in your childhood home for a few months before moving into your own apartment only a few streets over.

Second, you were tired — bone-deep and soul-sick. After witnessing so much destruction, you longed for quiet. The wizarding world, despite its victory, was in a state of chaos. The Ministry was being rebuilt from the ground up, and though they had claimed, with great sympathy, that it was unfair the weight of the world had fallen on such young shoulders, they had no issue asking you — along with Harry, Ron, and Hermione — to serve under Ministry officials and aid in the capture of the remaining Death Eaters.

You had all agreed on one thing: the Ministry was not to be trusted. And with that shared understanding, the four of you parted ways.

Lastly — and most frustratingly — the muggle world was the only place you could escape the insipid reporters who seemed determined to mine every moment of the Golden Quartet’s lives for public consumption. It was another point the four of you agreed on: you wanted no part of the circus.

Now, only your closest friends had your address. Which is why you could only conclude that this was a complete. And utter. Coincidence.

You came home that Tuesday evening with a grocery bag in one hand and your wand tucked safely into your boot. The hallway smelled faintly of burnt toast and lemon-scented floor cleaner, the kind your landlord swore by but never quite masked the damp. You rounded the corner toward your door and stopped short.

There he was.

Mattheo Riddle, standing in front of the apartment next to yours, two battered suitcases at his feet and a flat key dangling uselessly from his hand.

He looked up at the exact moment you did. His fingers froze on the key. Your hand stilled on the strap of your bag.

And for a long, suspended moment, the two of you just stared.

You hadn’t seen him in years — not since the war — and yet time didn’t seem to matter. Recognition crashed through the hallway like a thunderclap. His curls were longer, face more drawn, shadows bruising the skin beneath his eyes. But it was him. It was undeniably him.

Mattheo Riddle.

In your building.

The silence dragged on until it became unbearable. You were the first to blink.

"...Hi." You said, a little breathless, a little stunned.

He didn’t say anything right away, just looked at you like he was trying to convince himself you weren’t real. You couldn’t blame him.

"...You."

You raised a brow, "Me."

A beat of silence. Then, softer, almost unsure, "I didn’t know you lived here."

You shifted your groceries in your arms, "I didn’t know you lived here."

Another beat passed, longer this time. The key in his hand twitched like he’d forgotten it was there.

"I don’t," He said finally, "I mean… I just got the place."

You glanced at the door behind him — your door. The one you’d walked through a hundred times without incident. Now it felt like the threshold to something else entirely.

"Next door, huh?" You said, voice light but heart thudding.

He nodded, "Yeah. Lucky me."

You couldn’t tell if he meant it sarcastically, and you weren’t sure you wanted to know.

There was another pause. Not uncomfortable exactly — just thick with the weight of everything unspoken. You cleared your throat and stepped toward your own door, shifting your keys into your hand.

"Well," You said, half-turning toward him, "If you need help with anything, you know where to find me."

Mattheo blinked, like he hadn’t expected that — kindness, or maybe familiarity. Something flickered behind his eyes. He nodded.

"...Thanks." He said quietly.

You gave him a small nod before unlocking your door and slipping inside, heart hammering as you leaned against the back of it.

Mattheo Riddle. Living next door. You hadn't even unpacked your milk yet, and already the past was knocking.

The morning started like most others — quiet, a little rushed. You always managed to convince yourself you'd dress plain or skip makeup, severely underestimating how long it actually took to get ready. The apartment was practically hell to walk around in — you liked to sleep with the air conditioner blasting, which made getting out of bed feel like leaving heaven. You locked your door with one hand and slung your bag over your shoulder with the other, moving on instinct, drinking down a yogurt smoothie.

The building was still waking up — murmurs behind closed doors, the distant clink of pipes, a cat meowing two floors down. You padded down the stairs toward the lobby, head bowed slightly as you adjusted your coat, not expecting anyone to be around.

But then the front door swung open, and Mattheo Riddle stepped inside.

You almost didn’t recognize him at first. His hoodie was tied around his waist, leaving him in nothing but joggers and a damp black T-shirt clinging to his chest. His curls stuck to his forehead, chest still heaving from the run.

And then — he grabbed the hem of his shirt and yanked it up to wipe the sweat from his face.

You froze mid-step.

Because, well. There were abs. Sharp, defined, very real abs. The kind you’d only read about in romance novels or seen in movies — not the kind you expected to run into before 8 a.m. The curve of his ribs, the sharp V of his hips, the abs that could definitely grate cheese, the faint scars vanishing beneath the waistband of his joggers — you saw all of it, burned into your retinas before you could blink it away.

And then he saw you.

His eyes widened, and the shirt dropped instantly back into place.

"Oh." He said, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

"Morning." You said, trying your best to sound noncommittal.

"Morning." He said, a bit too quickly.

He glanced toward the door like he might bolt.

Instead, he stepped aside and held it open for you.

"Thanks." You said, quietly.

He nodded, still flustered, eyes flicking down then back up like he wasn’t sure where to look.

You stepped into the sunlight and crossed the lot toward your car, trying hard not to think about the abs. Not to think about the sweat. Not to think about the way your heart had momentarily leapt into your throat like it had no business being there.

God, you were such a teenager sometimes.

Behind you, the door clicked shut.

You grabbed the mail like you always did — a quick swipe from the box in the lobby before you headed back upstairs. Most days it was bills, junk flyers, brochures. Nothing worth more than a glance.

But tonight, when you finally dumped the envelopes onto your kitchen counter, your fingers froze.

There, on top of the usual clutter, was a single letter that didn’t belong.

The paper was thick and creamy, the kind that whispered wealth and importance. The edges were hand-cut, the ink flowed in perfect, curling calligraphy, and the wax seal stamped firmly with the unmistakable Malfoy family crest glinted in the kitchen light.

You didn’t have to open it to know who it was for.

Your address was written there, clearly a mistake, but following it was the name Mattheo Riddle. Your fingers traced over the letters without realizing.

You stared at it, thumb brushing over the smooth paper as a knot twisted in your stomach.

Do you knock on his door? Drop it in the mail slot and pretend it was an accident? It felt like less work to just walk over and hand it to him — and honestly, less weird.

You grabbed your coat and stepped out, the letter folded carefully in your hand.

When you reached his door, your knuckles hovered for a moment before you finally rapped softly.

The door opened a crack almost immediately.

He was surprised to see you. Actually, it seemed like he wasn’t expecting any guests, considering the way he was clutching his wand with a grip that almost turned his knuckles white at his side. You tried not to hold it against him. After all, you had been exactly the same during the first couple months of living there. You had cast protection charms and wards over your parents’ house like a crazy lady. Even the slightest noise woke you, and you’d wake up in a cold sweat each night.

However, you definitely felt better the second he noticed it was you — the tension melted from his body.

You held out the letter, voice low.

“It was in my mail. Thought you should have it.”

He blinked, taking it with a slow nod.

“Thanks.” He said quietly.

You hesitated, then added, “Accident, I swear.”

He gave a small, dry chuckle.

“Don’t worry.” He said, lifting his eyes from the letter and back to you, "Thank you."

The door shut softly.

It happened three nights later.

You were curled up on the couch in mismatched pajamas, hoodie half-zipped and a blanket tangled around your legs. A sitcom rerun flickered on the TV, but you weren’t really watching — just letting it hum in the background while your tea cooled on the coffee table.

Then came the knock.

You paused mid-sip.

Another knock. Gentle, hesitant. Like whoever it was had seriously debated whether to even bother.

You padded to the door and opened it — just a crack — and, of course, there he was.

Mattheo.

Hair a mess in a way that still looked unfairly attractive, a tight compression shirt that honestly made you embarrassed on behalf of all womankind, and a bashful-but-trying-hard-to-look-nonchalant expression on his face. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets. Shoulders slightly hunched, like he didn’t want to be there but had talked himself into it anyway.

"…Hey." He said, voice low, like it felt too loud in your quiet hallway.

You raised an eyebrow, surprised, "Hey."

"I, um…" He shifted awkwardly. One foot stepped back, then forward again, like he couldn’t decide whether to flee or stay. It was incredibly unlike him, to the point that it made you concerned, "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure?" You said, cautiously.

A pause. He looked genuinely tortured.

Then, finally:

"How do I use the microwave?"

You stared at him.

He rushed to add, "I asked the landlord. I swear I did. There’s just… so many buttons. I don’t know what half of them do. This is the fifth time this week my meal is half cold and half hot and I don’t know what else to do because every time I use magic in that damned apartment, all the other technology freaks the fuck out."

You blinked.

That was… the most you’d ever heard him speak.

And not just speak — ramble. Rushed and impulsive, words tumbling out too fast for him to rein in. It felt squirrelly in a way that didn’t fit the boy you remembered from school. Back then, he always had that cocky, relaxed smile, the one that lingered too long and made people nervous. When it wasn’t that, it was fury — sharp and volatile. You’d seen enough of both expressions to find this new one strange.

A part of you almost felt bad. Clearly, the Muggle world wasn’t treating him kindly. And the fact that he was asking you for help — considering how often your friends used to butt heads with his back at Hogwarts — well. That had to sting his pride.

Still, you’d both been on the same side by the end of the war. So you supposed you could let bygones be bygones.

You pressed your lips together to keep from laughing.

You failed.

"Sorry," You said, half behind your hand, "It’s just—"

"No, no, go ahead." He said, dryly.

That only made it worse.

You opened the door wider, grabbing your keys and forgoing slippers since you were just walking a few feet to his place anyway, still smiling, "Alright. Lemme see."

His apartment looked almost identical to yours — same layout, same creaky floorboard just inside the threshold — but it felt different. Dimmer. Colder. Like someone was borrowing the space rather than living in it.

The walls were bare, not a single photo or poster in sight. The air smelled faintly of old parchment and something herbal, like spellwork left to linger. A wand lay carelessly on the coffee table, half-tucked beneath a rolled-up Daily Prophet. Books and scrolls were stacked beside it in frighteningly neat piles, next to a tea mug that had clearly gone cold.

You followed him into the kitchen, where the microwave sat perched on the counter like an unwanted guest.

“So,” You said, stuffing your hands into the pocket of your hoodie, “What are we microwaving?”

He reached into a plastic bag and pulled out a sad-looking cup of ramen. The cheap kind. The kind your dad used to stress about every time he caught you eating it — full of sodium, he'd complain, and then buy you another six-pack the next week because he knew you liked the chicken flavor.

“This.” he said, like it was obvious.

You stared at the cup. Then at him. Then back at the cup.

“…You know you’re supposed to make the water hot first before putting the noodles in, right?”

He blinked at you, genuinely confused, “...Am I?”

You stepped forward, peeled back the foil lid with practiced fingers, and pointed at the fine print along the rim.

“The instructions are written right here.”

“They’re in Korean.” He muttered.

You paused. Then looked down. Then back at him.

“…Right.”

“I don’t know how to translate it without using a spell.”

You tilted your head, “Can’t you use your phone?”

He went quiet, eyes drifting away — not defensive, just… quiet. You immediately regretted the question. Of course he couldn’t. The man barely knew how to use a microwave. What were you expecting?

You looked back down at the sad little noodle cup, steam starting to curl from under the foil lid. Then around his kitchen — barren shelves, a half-stocked fridge, one lonely fork sitting in the drying rack like it had never been part of a set.

“Is this what you’ve been eating all week?” You asked slowly, “Badly cooked noodles?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just gave a small shrug, like it wasn’t exactly the answer… but also kind of was.

“They’re not that bad.” He said, avoiding your eyes.

He was still quiet.

“If you’re gonna live off this stuff,” You said, softer now, “You should at least dress it up a little. Toss in an egg. Use bone broth instead of water. Add some greens. Carrots, spinach. Leftover meat, if you’ve got it.”

He tilted his head, brows drawing together slightly like you’d just introduced him to an entirely new concept.

“Right,” He said, “Of course. Bone broth.”

You squinted at him, “Have you… eaten anything not made in this cup since you moved in?”

He hesitated.

Which was answer enough.

You sighed, slow and through your nose, gaze drifting back to the microwave, then to him.

You shouldn’t push.

You knew that.

He hadn’t let you in for tea. He hadn’t sat you down and started talking about his life. He’d asked for help with one tiny thing — and even that probably took more effort than he’d admit. If you offered more… would he take it badly? Would he realize he’d already slipped up just by letting you in this far? Would he shut down, retreat, snap the door shut like none of this ever happened?

Maybe. Probably.

You wouldn’t risk it.

But gods, when you looked at that flavorless brick of noodles, and the silence that filled his apartment like a second layer of drywall, and that one fork drying on its own…

You just couldn’t help but feel bad.

“Next time you’re at the store,” You started, then paused — glanced again at the sad little cup on the counter, then back at him.

Actually… screw it.

“…Forget that,” You said instead, keeping your voice light, casual, like it wasn’t a big deal, “I’ve got some stuff in my fridge. Eggs, some spinach, maybe a little leftover rotisserie chicken. Won’t take long.”

He looked at you. Not startled, exactly — but something flickered behind his eyes, like he hadn’t expected the offer. Like he wasn’t sure why you’d make it. Like maybe he didn’t think he deserved it.

“You don’t have to do that.” He said quickly, but it didn’t come out sharp. Just automatic. Defensive, out of habit.

You shrugged, already halfway to the door.

“Just give me a sec,” You said, throwing him a quick smile, “Stay here. Don’t burn the noodles.”

He didn’t say anything. But he didn’t stop you, either.

And that, you figured, was enough.

You came back five minutes later, juggling a small pot containing a couple of eggs, a container of broth, a Ziploc bag of spinach, and a pair of chopsticks you’d swiped from your drawer on the way out. The pot knocked softly against your knee as you nudged the door open with your elbow.

Mattheo blinked at you from the kitchen, clearly still not convinced this was real.

“You really didn’t have to do that.” He said, stepping aside as you brushed past him.

“I know,” You said breezily, already unloading your arms onto the counter, “But I’m doing it anyway.”

He opened his mouth — probably to protest again — but you cut him off with a look. Not sharp, just firm.

“I’m not trying to invade your kitchen or anything,” You added, fiddling with the pot lid, “But that sad little cup deserves better. And you kind of looked like you were about to eat it dry.”

“I wasn’t.” He muttered.

You filled the pot with the bone broth and placed it on the stove, clicking the burner on with practiced ease, "Mm-hm.”

He exhaled a short, reluctant laugh, rubbing the back of his neck, “You’re really doing this?”

“If it helps, I’m not being nice,” You said, half-smiling, “I haven’t eaten dinner yet. So if you want to make it fair, give me a bowl too.”

That caught him off guard. He paused, then nodded once, slow and quiet.

“…Alright. Deal.”

You tried not to smile too much as he handed you another cup of ramen from the cabinet. It was chipped at the rim and slightly too small, but it would do. You emptied both noodle cakes into the pot, swapped the water for broth, and got to work, talking him through it as casually as you could.

“You wanna add the spinach last,” You explained, stirring gently, “It cooks fast. And I like cracking the egg straight in — makes the broth thicker. But if you’d rather boil it on the side and slice it, that works too.”

He watched you carefully — not just your hands, but your face, your posture, the way you moved around like you weren’t nervous to take up space in his kitchen. Like you belonged. Like you didn’t find this strange at all.

“Why are you helping me?” He asked quietly.

You looked up from the pot, letting the corner of your mouth tug up just slightly.

“Because,” You said, “I’m very hungry.”

That earned a real smile. Small. Barely there. But real.

“…Thanks.” He said after a beat.

You shrugged, “Don’t thank me till you taste it.”

When you finally passed him a bowl — warm, fragrant, with steam curling gently over the rim — he stared at it like it was more than just dinner. Like it meant something. Like maybe you did.

You sat beside him at the small kitchen table, your shoulder brushing his for a moment before you settled back.

Not quite friends. Not yet. But maybe something was beginning.

You stood in front of his door again, two days later, staring at the worn wood like it might open on its own and save you the trouble.

In your hands was a small Tupperware container — the clear kind, fogged at the edges from the warmth still trapped inside. A generous slice of cake sat inside, a little dented from the walk up and decorated with frankly ridiculous neon frosting. The plastic lid was smudged with your fingerprints from how tightly you’d been gripping it, like maybe it would give you some courage if you just held on long enough.

You’d already knocked three times in your head. Once with your actual hand. And still — no follow-through.

You shifted your weight from foot to foot, mumbling under your breath like a lunatic, “Okay, just leave it at the door, ring the bell, run. Not that serious. Not weird. It’s cake. Everyone likes cake. It’s not a big deal. You’re not weird. This is normal. People bring food to people. People are nice. You’re being nice.”

Your fingers twitched toward the doorbell again — and then froze halfway.

“…Unless it’s weird. Maybe it’s weird. Maybe—”

“Can I help you?”

You jumped. Hard.

The container nearly slipped from your hands as you turned — and there he was. Mattheo. Just a few feet away, keys in hand, dark curls a little damp like he’d just come in from the rain. His brows were pulled slightly together, his voice caught somewhere between confusion and caution.

Not quite hostile. But not welcoming either.

“Oh—hi,” You said, voice a little too high, a little too bright, “I was just…”

He looked at you. Then at the Tupperware. Then back again.

You cleared your throat and held the container out between you like it might protect you both from what you weren’t saying. A peace offering. A bribe. A white flag covered in blue frosting.

“I thought you might like this.” You said, trying your best to sound casual, “It’s… cake.”

He didn’t take it.

His expression shifted — cooled, hardened, like a door slamming shut behind his eyes. His voice dropped, quiet and clipped.

“You don’t have to pity me.”

The words landed like a slap.

You blinked, “What?”

“I’m not some sad project,” He said, jaw tight, “You don’t have to keep showing up like this. I didn’t ask for your help. I don’t need your charity.”

It hit you then — not just what he said, but what he meant.

The defensiveness wasn’t about you. Not really. It was about the way he saw himself. The walls he'd spent years building around the idea that maybe he didn't deserve care. That if someone reached for him, they must want something in return — or worse, they must be trying to fix him. To mold him into something less complicated. Less dark. Less him.

You didn’t look away.

Your voice dropped to something softer. Something honest.

“Mattheo… it’s just cake. There are no strings.”

He looked at you like he didn’t believe you. Like he was trying to see through the frosting to the catch hidden underneath. You held his gaze anyway.

“I got it from work.” You added, gentler now, “And I don’t like eating dessert alone.”

That gave him pause. A flicker of something — uncertainty, maybe — passed across his face.

Then, finally, he let out a quiet sigh, brushing past you to the door.

“…Alright.” He muttered, unlocking it, “Fine. Come in.”

You followed him inside, your heart thudding in your chest like you’d just sprinted through a battlefield and not… offered someone cake.

The apartment was exactly as you remembered. Same dim lighting. Same scuffed floors. Same silence that felt like it had weight. You stepped into the small kitchen, placed the container gently on the table like it was something fragile, and cracked the lid open with a soft pop.

Blue frosting beamed up at you — cheerful and absurd — despite the fact that the image was slightly smushed from the walk. The cartoon dog grinning from the top of the cake looked like it had just burst into song, paws raised in eternal celebration.

Mattheo squinted at it like it was a piece of contemporary art meant to make him think deeper.

“…The fuck is that?”

You grinned, “That would be a talking dingo.”

He lifted an eyebrow.

You gestured to the cake, “From this Australian cartoon called Bluey. The kids are obsessed.”

His expression didn’t change, “You got this from… kids?”

“I work at a kindergarten/” You said, already crossing to the drying rack and pulling out two mismatched forks like you lived there, “One of the kids had a birthday today. He got Bluey — obviously. This is the leftover slice of Bluey’s mom. Or aunt. Or whatever. She didn’t make the cut.”

Mattheo blinked at you like you’d just casually confessed to smuggling illegal potions across the border.

“You work with children?”

“Yup.”

“…Why?”

You snorted, handing him a fork, “Gee, thanks.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” He said, catching the fork with a nod of thanks, “I just— You could’ve done anything. Back at Hogwarts, you talked about becoming an Auror, didn’t you? Top of the class in Defense. You could’ve had your pick of the Ministry. What changed?”

Your smile faltered.

Your gaze lowered to the cake, the blue frosting suddenly too bright.

“A lot has changed, Mattheo.” You said quietly.

When you looked up again, your eyes met his — and something passed between you. Something that had the magic that was interwoven through every single fiber of his body begin to vibrate and reach for you.

It was lonely in muggle London. Finally, he had someone who understood. The war. The fallout. The ache in your bones that hadn’t quite gone away.

“You know that better than anyone.”

There was a moment where he looked at you differently. Like he was seeing you again for the first time. Not as the student he used to know. Not as his overly hospitable neighbour. But as someone scarred and soft in all the same places he was.

You didn’t touch him. But part of you wanted to. Wanted to reach across the space between you and tell him about yourself. Tell him everything.

Instead, you shrugged, trying to find your voice again.

“I’m not really qualified or anything.” You said, softer now, “But my mum used to teach there. She still has some connections. Put in a good word for me when I needed work. And apparently my talent for counter-curses means nothing next to my ability to recite Five Little Ducks from memory.”

He huffed out a laugh — quiet and unexpected — through his nose. It wasn’t much. But it was something.

You sat together at the small kitchen table, forks in hand, slowly dismantling the slice of cake like it might bite back. You felt a small pang of guilt as Bluey’s mom lost her frosted ears — may she rest in peace — but if there was one thing you’d learned about toddler birthday cakes, it was that they were criminally delicious.

Mattheo didn’t say much. Just watched you with careful eyes, taking small, cautious bites like he wasn’t used to sharing anything — not food, not silence, not company.

You didn’t fill the quiet. You let it settle.

It was nearly two in the morning when you heard it.

A dull thud, followed by the sharp crack of something hitting the floor — hard. Then silence. Then a low, ragged sound that didn’t sound like words at all.

You sat up in bed, heart already pounding.

Your apartment was quiet, cloaked in darkness and long, familiar shadows — but the noise hadn’t come from within your own space.

It had come from next door.

From Mattheo’s.

You hesitated, legs swinging over the edge of the bed. The floor was cold beneath your bare feet. You waited, listening, willing the silence to stay. But then it came again.

A heavy scrape. A crash. The sound of something shattering.

You didn’t think. You just grabbed your wand.

The hallway outside was dim, washed in the weak amber glow of the sconces that never quite worked right. His door was slightly ajar. Not wide — but not locked, either.

You raised your hand, knuckles grazing the wood.

“Mattheo?” You called softly.

No answer.

“Mattheo, it’s me—are you okay?”

Still nothing. Just the same jagged, uneven breathing. Fast. Erratic. Distant.

You glanced down at the doorknob.

“Alohomora.” You whispered, tapping the brass with the tip of your wand.

The latch clicked open.

You stepped inside quietly, careful not to make too much noise. The apartment was dark, save for the silver wash of streetlight spilling through the blinds. The glow cut harsh lines across the floor and furniture, shadow and light slicing the room in half.

And there — crouched beside the overturned coffee table — was Mattheo.

His back was to you. His shirt clung to him, damp with sweat. His shoulders trembled with barely-contained tension. A mug lay shattered nearby, and his wand was discarded, half-buried under a scattered pile of scrolls. His hands were tangled in his hair, gripping at his scalp like he was trying to hold something in — or hold something out.

He didn’t see you come in.

“Hey,” You said gently, not stepping closer, “It’s okay. It’s just me.”

No response.

His whole body was wound tight, like a live wire — still in the middle of something he hadn’t escaped yet. Like he’d fallen asleep on a battlefield and hadn’t managed to wake up.

You didn’t cross the room. Not yet.

“I’m sorry for intruding,” You added, softer, “I just… heard something. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

A long pause.

Then, slowly — like he was dragging himself back into his body inch by inch — Mattheo turned his head.

His eyes met yours.

At first, they were wild. Unfocused. Distant. Then came recognition — flickering and faint. And then, quickly after, the crash of shame.

He looked away.

“Shit,” He muttered, voice hoarse, “I’m fine. It’s fine. Sorry to wake you. You should go back.”

But you didn’t move.

You stepped forward — quietly, carefully — crouching just far enough away not to crowd him, but close enough to be within reach.

“Are you alright?” You asked, voice calm and low, “Were you asleep?”

He let out a bitter laugh — short and flat, “That wasn’t sleep.”

You waited.

His hands had fallen to his lap. You could see now that his knuckles were raw and red, scraped open from something — maybe the wall, maybe the floor, maybe just the way he fought his own mind.

You nodded toward the couch, “Do you want to sit down?”

He didn’t answer, but after a beat, he pushed himself to his feet. Stiff. Tired. Like his body had only just realized it could stop fighting.

You followed him.

He collapsed onto the cushions like his bones had turned to dust. You sat beside him, not touching, not speaking, not offering false comfort.

Just… there.

He dragged a hand down his face. Then again. Then let it fall, limp, into his lap.

“It’s not a big deal,” He muttered, “It happens. Has for years.”

You looked at him.

“I know,” You said quietly, “I get them too.”

He stilled.

His eyes flicked to you — surprised. Like he hadn’t expected that from you. Like he couldn’t quite picture it.

“Still doesn’t make it less shitty.” You added.

He let out a sound — half a breath, half a scoff. Not quite a laugh. But not nothing.

“I hate it,” He said, barely above a whisper, “I wake up and it’s like I’m still there. Like it never ended. The smoke, the screaming — I know it’s not real, but my body doesn’t. It reacts. It always reacts.”

He swallowed.

“It’s not even always the same dream. Sometimes it’s the castle. Sometimes it’s… worse. Places I don’t talk about. Places I’ve never told anyone about.”

His voice cracked at the end. You didn’t flinch.

You just curled your knees beneath you, watching your fingers.

“My first week here,” You said softly, “I didn’t sleep at all. I warded the apartment every night. Then I’d wake up at three in the morning and run to my parents’ house just to check their wards. I think I cast every protection charm in existence. I was so convinced… if I let my guard down, even for a second…”

You trailed off. The silence filled in the rest.

Mattheo stared at you. Not in judgment. Just… listening. Like he couldn’t believe someone else carried the same weight.

You — the girl from the Golden Quartet. The one who helped end it. Who came back. Who rebuilt.

But not unscathed.

He remembered what Bellatrix had done to you. What you’d endured. What you’d lost.

And he thought — maybe for the first time — that you’d suffered just as deeply. That you understood.

You glanced up at him again. He didn’t look away.

“Do you want me to set up a few wards?” You asked, “They won’t fix anything, but they help. And I can teach you how to maintain them. Though,” You added with a tired smile, “it’ll probably be harder for me to break in next time.”

That got the faintest twitch of his mouth.

Almost a smile. Almost.

Another long pause.

Then—

“…Just stay.”

The words were barely there. Soft. Uncertain.

But they were enough.

You nodded.

So you stayed.

The silence between you changed — not heavy anymore. Just quiet. Settling.

He leaned back against the cushions, body slowly unwinding, like his nervous system was finally catching up to the fact that he was safe. His eyes drifted halfway shut, breath finally starting to even out.

Eventually, his fingers brushed yours — faint, hesitant, barely even a touch.

You didn’t move.

And neither did he.

Mattheo had come down to check his mailbox like he always did on Saturday mornings—hood up, hair messy, hoodie zipped to his chin—when a voice stopped him mid-turn.

“Flat 2A, yeah?”

He looked up. There was a man squinting at the mailboxes, arms full of grocery bags, car keys dangling from his pinky. He looked vaguely familiar.

“…Yeah?” Mattheo said carefully.

The man nodded to the box beside his, “My daughter’s next door. Flat 2B.”

Mattheo straightened slightly, “Right. You must be Mr. (L/N).”

“You know her?”

“We went to school together,” Mattheo replied, keeping it vague in the safest way possible.

Mr. (L/N) gave him a long, assessing look—longer than was comfortable—then smiled, like he’d just figured something out.

“So you’re special. Like her.”

Mattheo froze, “…Sorry?”

“You know,” The man waved a hand loosely, “special. One of them. Don’t worry—I’ve known for years. Her mum cried when the letter came. I built her a wand stand once. Terrible thing. Lopsided.”

Mattheo blinked. Once. Twice.

Before he could plan an escape—

“Be a good lad,” Your father said cheerfully, already turning toward the exit, “and help me bring these upstairs. (Y/N)’s mum went overboard at the farmer’s market again. Wouldn’t be surprised if we had half of Surrey in the boot.”

“…What?”

“Come give us a hand, will you? These boxes aren’t gonna levitate themselves—ha! Kidding. Muggle joke. Don’t tell your lot I made it.”

Mattheo stood there, stunned, until your dad clapped him on the back like they were old mates, “You’ve got good arms. We’ll be done in no time.”

And then, without ceremony, your dad looped an arm through his and dragged him outside.

*

“So what do you do, son?” Your dad asked as they hauled bags back up the building stairs.

“Uh… I’m not really doing anything right now.”

“That’s what your twenties are for! Finding yourself. I worked two jobs at your age. One time, my mate Gary and I—ah, Gary, poor bastard, divorced now—anyway, we moved an entire washing machine up six flights with nothing but a strap and willpower.”

Mattheo, sweating slightly, nodded, “…Right.”

“Builds character.” Your dad said, with the authority of someone who’s definitely broken a toe doing that. Then, after a beat, “You know, life’s a lot like grocery shopping.”

Mattheo glanced down at the bag digging into his arm, “Is it.”

“You can make a list, plan every aisle, but there’s always something missing when you get home.”

“…Profound.”

“Exactly! You’re a good listener. Ever think about dating my daughter?”

Mattheo nearly dropped the watermelon.

“What?!”

“I’m just saying,” Your dad shrugged, utterly unbothered, “you’ve got kind eyes and steady hands. Plus you said you went to school together. Shared history’s a good foundation.”

You were halfway through folding laundry when the front door opened. You turned just in time to see your father stroll in, humming cheerfully—followed by Mattheo, who looked like he’d been inducted into a cult against his will.

You blinked, “What—? What is going on? Why is he here?”

“Hi.” Mattheo said, his voice flat with disbelief.

“He helped me carry the groceries,” Your dad said proudly, unloading bags onto the counter, “Nice boy. Good biceps.”

“…What?”

“Anyway,” Your dad continued, turning back to Mattheo, “You’re coming for dinner, obviously. I’ll ask her mum to make the lasagna. The lasagna. The one she makes when she likes someone.”

“That’s really not necessary.” Mattheo started, clearly panicked, but your dad was already on his phone. “She’ll be thrilled. You like cheese, don’t you?”

Mattheo looked at you helplessly. You just raised an eyebrow. “Well? Do you like cheese?”

“…I mean, yeah?”

“There you go.” Your dad clapped him on the back again, then started pushing jars toward him, “You should take some of these groceries, son. A growing boy needs nutrients.”

Your dad was saying, completely in earnest now as he sorted bags by category on your kitchen counter, “You eat enough protein? You look like you work out. What’s your egg intake?”

Mattheo opened his mouth, then shut it again. He glanced at you like please save me.

You looked up at the ceiling, eyes wide.

“Dad,” You said slowly, like approaching a landmine, “What is happening right now?”

“Nothing’s happening, sweetheart,” He said innocently, stacking apples with the precision of a man who’d definitely done this before, “Just making conversation. Mattheo here’s a lovely young man.”

“You’ve known him for twenty minutes.”

“And already I’ve seen enough. Polite, helpful, didn’t even grumble once when I handed him a forty-pound watermelon.”

Mattheo spoke up in a way that was far too timid for him, “I—kind of grumbled.”

“See?” Your dad grinned like he’d just won the lottery, “Humble, too. I want a son-in-law like that.”

“Dad!” You exclaimed, mortified.

Mattheo shifted awkwardly, cheeks flushed, feeling like he’d accidentally walked into a reality show.

“What? I’m not saying I want Mattheo to be my son-in-law, I’m saying I wouldn’t mind if I had a son-in-law like Mattheo. Two completely separate things, my dear.” Your dad said with mock innocence, flouncing around the room as he put away groceries, but kept two of everything right there on the counter instead of where they belonged.

“Now Mattheo, do you like red wine or white? I’ll make sure to have a bottle stocked for you when you come over.”

“Come over?” You echoed, cheeks heating up.

“Of course! He’s coming over for dinner tonight, are you not?”

Mattheo swallowed, clearly overwhelmed but trying to hide it behind a thin smile.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude,” Mattheo said quickly, forcing a polite smile, “I was planning to meet my friends tonight.” A lie. A very hopeful lie.

Your dad didn’t miss a beat. “Then bring your friends as well! Oh, we’ll have a jolly good time—all these blokes under one roof. I’ll ask (Y/N)’s brother to bring a pack of beers, something to liven the old boys up.” He exclaimed, practically floating around the kitchen like a whirlwind of enthusiasm.

“Dad!” You finally exclaimed, trying to snap him out of his party-planning trance.

He stopped and turned, eyes twinkling as he looked at Mattheo’s uncomfortable face.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, my dear boy,” He said, voice suddenly gentle, “Do you not drink? Very good habit, you know.”

Mattheo swallowed, unsure how to respond.

“That’s okay,” Your dad went on, waving it off like it was no big deal, “My wife would much prefer a boy with good habits for our (Y/N), anyway.”

You groaned and hid your face in your hands, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, “Dad, please. Stop.”

Finally done messing about your kitchen, your dad began loading the pairs of items he’d left on the counter into one of the grocery boxes.

“There you go, son,” He said, handing the box to Mattheo with a warm, steady smile, “This should keep your fridge stocked for at least another week or two. If you don’t know what to do with any of it, just run down to my house. I’d be happy to whip up something for you to eat.”

Mattheo stared at the carton of food in his hands.

No one had ever offered him that before. Not like this. Not so openly, so simply, so… abundantly. His own father had been a distant shadow in his memories, a figure he’d learned to avoid rather than seek. There was no warmth, no easy kindness like this.

For a moment, something twisted quietly inside Mattheo — a mix of jealousy and something else, something heavier he didn’t quite want to name. You’d grown up with a dad who knew how to care, who showed it. He had thought once that having Muggle parents was the worst thing in the world, but now, holding that box, surrounded by your dad’s easy affection, he wasn’t so sure.

He looked up, meeting your dad’s hopeful gaze.

“Okay,” Mattheo said quietly, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “I’ll come for dinner.”

Your dad’s grin widened, and you felt a little flutter in your chest as the moment settled between all of you—unexpected, but maybe exactly what was needed.

After what felt like hours of your dad chatting nonstop, finally, he was out the door, humming some old tune as he disappeared down the hallway. You shut the door behind him and let out a long breath, cheeks still flushed with embarrassment.

Turning to Mattheo, you ran a hand through your hair nervously. “I’m really sorry about him,” You said quickly, eyes darting away, “He can be... a lot. You don’t have to come for dinner, honestly. He was just being nice—he does that with pretty much everyone, like some sort of overly friendly hostage negotiator.”

Mattheo shifted his weight, his expression unreadable but somehow softer than usual. “I’m aware.” He said dryly, voice calm and measured, the faintest smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

You bit your lip, “Still, I don’t want you to feel like you have to. I know it’s kind of sudden and probably... weird.”

He looked at you then, really looked, and you caught a flicker in his eyes — something quieter, warmer, even if his face didn’t fully show it. “I don’t mind,” He said simply, voice low, “It’s… nice to be invited.”

You blinked, surprised, “Really?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal, but his gaze lingered on you a moment longer than necessary, “It’s rare. People don’t do that for me.”

There was a pause, the kind that stretches with unspoken things, and you realized that beneath all that aloofness, he wanted something like this. Something normal. Something warm.

You smiled gently, “Well, then. Dinner it is. And maybe next time you can teach my dad a thing or two about being subtle.”

Mattheo’s smirk finally turned into a half-smile, “Maybe.”

You felt your heart loosen just a bit, the awkwardness fading into something quieter, something real.

The hallway was still warm from dinner. You walked beside Mattheo, both of you quiet in that way people get after a full meal and too many emotions — like the silence itself had thickened into something gentle.

He had leftovers tucked under one arm, the lasagna carefully packed in a Tupperware with foil pressed down like your mum had sworn it would keep the flavour in, darling. He hadn’t said much since your dad’s final clap on the back and his booming, “Any friend of hers is a friend of mine, son!”

At his door, Mattheo hesitated, keys caught between his fingers.

You glanced at him.

He looked down at the container in his arms like it had grown heavier somehow, then back at you.

“…Your mum’s nice.”

You huffed a laugh, “Don’t get attached. She’s married to my dad.”

That pulled something from him — not one of those breathy, polite almost-laughs he gave people when they said something mildly amusing, but something real. Low and rough, surprised out of him like it had caught him off guard.

He shook his head, still smiling faintly, “Too bad.”

“She’s way out of your league, Riddle.” You replied easily.

“Speak for yourself — she’s the one who was trying to get me out of my pants.”

You choked, “Because she said you looked like you’d tripped over a kerb!”

“These,” He said, tugging lightly at the rip near his knee, “are meant to look like this.”

“There’s no harm in admitting you’re a bit clumsy, Matty.”

He let out a quiet snort, but still didn’t unlock the door. There was something tentative in the way he stood — like stepping inside would be an end to something soft he hadn’t realised he’d needed. Like he was holding on to the aftertaste of lasagna and warmth and your parents' terrible stories, trying to memorise what it felt like to belong.

The whole night, he hadn't felt like an outsider — not even like a guest. He’d just been there, part of the chaos. He’d argued with your brother over Quidditch stats, held up bits of your dad’s entertainment system while he hammered in the nails, and endured your mum fussing with the tear in his jeans. You’d realised halfway through that you could’ve used your wand to float the whole thing into place — but with Mattheo’s biceps straining against his sleeves, you’d decided to keep that to yourself.

Even now, you didn’t say anything. Just waited.

Finally, after a long pause, he shifted the Tupperware under one arm and turned the key, nudging the door open — but still not stepping through.

Then, like he hadn’t been debating it the entire walk up the stairs, he asked, casual as anything, “You wanna come in?”

You blinked, “Now?”

He cleared his throat, suddenly too aware of how the question had landed. “For a cuppa.” He added quickly. His voice cracked a little under the forced lightness.

You raised a brow, “Weren’t you just whining all the way up the stairs that you were too full to breathe?”

“It’s tea,” He said, trying for deadpan and failing miserably, “There’s always room for tea.”

You smiled softly, stepping past him into the familiar dimness of his flat, “I’d like that.”

He held the door a little longer to let you through — the smallest gesture, but deliberate. Inside, the flat smelled like warm laundry and whatever incense he’d been burning earlier — something herbal and clean that softened the edges of the silence.

You settled into the sofa, hands curled around a steaming mug. He passed you the sugar silently, like he already knew how you liked it.

“We have dinners like that every other week,” You said, voice low, relaxed, “You should come next time.”

Predictably, he started to refuse, “Oh, no. I couldn’t. I don’t want to impose—”

You looked at him. Really looked.

His face had changed since the war. Thinner, maybe. Older in the eyes. But steadier, too. Calmer. There were fewer sharp edges — and maybe that was good. Maybe growing up had done what time always promises to do: carved the pain into shape.

Still, something tugged at your chest.

You both had grown up too fast. Lost too much, too young. Your rebellious teen years had disappeared the second you realised just how quickly your family could be taken from you. You’d watched people like Harry — and Mattheo — walk through fire alone, and you’d never forgotten it.

The war was brutal. There were nights when survival felt like a punishment, not a gift. But sometimes — like tonight — you caught a glimpse of who you’d become, and thought maybe it had made you into someone good.

You looked at Mattheo, still fiddling with the teabag in his mug like he didn’t quite know what to do with his hands, and wondered if he felt the same about himself.

He had been impulsive, emotional, too quick to lash out. And now? Now he was quieter. Softer around the edges. But part of you missed the fire in him — the cocky confidence, the recklessness. The way he used to speak like the whole world should listen.

You came out of the war a hero.

He came out as the son of the world’s greatest villain.

You had a family who loved you. Who accepted your world and stitched it into their own.

He had parents who only cared how he could serve theirs.

And despite everything — despite the fact that you were perhaps one of the only people alive who truly understood — you hadn’t lived equal lives. You had a family that loved you unconditionally. He had… expectations. Burdens.

“You wouldn’t be,” You said quietly, “My parents would really like it if you came again. And so would I.”

Mattheo’s stirring stopped.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Just let the silence stretch — until it snapped.

“You don’t need to keep doing this, you know,” He said, voice tight, “I don’t know what you’re scared of, but I’m not going to off myself or host secret Death Eater meetings or whatever it is you think I’m doing alone up here.”

You blinked, caught off guard, “Mattheo—”

“Come on,” He said, rolling his eyes. “You keep checking in. Keep inviting me places. You think I don’t notice?”

You stared at him. And then, to his horror, you started to laugh. Soft and exasperated.

“Oh Godric. I wonder why I keep visiting my super attractive neighbour who’s been through the same traumas I have, who my parents clearly like and who actually laughs at my jokes. Truly a mystery.”

He froze, like you’d hit him with a hex, “Wait — you’re not saying you keep coming around because… because you like me?”

You blinked, smiling slowly, “Why? Can’t I?”

“You can’t,” He said immediately. Adamantly. Like it was law. “You should be with someone like Potter. Or Granger. Or — Merlin, even Weasley.”

You raised an eyebrow, “Harry’s basically my brother. Hermione’s dating Ron.”

“There’s more than one Weasley.” He offered, grasping at straws.

"Mattheo frankly I cannot think of anything worse than ending up related to Ron, Hermione and Harry."

Mattheo shrugged with faux innocence, swirling the teabag in his mug like he hadn’t just tried to sell you off to a different wizarding family, “I’m just saying… you could do better.”

You rolled your eyes, “Right. And what exactly would ‘better’ look like?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it.

You leaned forward, eyes glinting, “Go on. Tell me.”

Mattheo hesitated — the cocky response clearly right there on the tip of his tongue — but something in your expression stopped him short. Maybe it was the way you weren’t teasing anymore. Not really. You were waiting. Listening.

And when he spoke, his voice was low. Stripped bare.

“Someone like you. Someone who didn’t spend most of their life calling people like you a Mudblood,” He muttered, eyes fixed on the steam curling from his mug, “Someone who doesn’t make people reach for their wands the second they walk into a room.”

Your smile faded.

He didn’t look up, “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I was. You know what I’ve done. I picked sides. I picked wrong.”

There was a long, quiet beat. The kind that carries too much weight.

Then you set your mug down gently on the table and said, “You were just a child, Mattheo.”

His eyes flicked up to yours, uncertain. Wary. Like he wanted to believe you, but didn’t dare.

“A child,” You repeated, firmer this time, “And your father was bloody Voldemort. Of course you were twisted up inside. Of course you were scared. But you’re not that kid anymore.”

“But you—” He started, but you cut him off.

“Don’t,” You said softly, “I’m not some symbol of bravery or some war hero people should look up to. I left the wizarding world precisely because of that. I didn’t want to be paraded around, painted in gold, turned into a symbol of light just because I happened to survive.”

He swallowed hard. His brows were drawn tight.

“There were so many people caught in that war,” You continued, voice trembling now, “People who didn’t get to pick sides. People like you, who had to follow the only path left open to them.”

Mattheo’s jaw flexed. He looked away again, that familiar wall sliding into place — too fast, too familiar.

“Doesn’t change what I did,” He said, “Doesn’t mean I don’t deserve everything I get now.”

“You don’t,” You snapped, not angry at him — but at the world that had taught him to think like this, “And neither do they. Harry wouldn’t have survived if Narcissa Malfoy hadn’t lied to Voldemort, and now she’s rotting in Azkaban. Theo deflected a curse meant for McGonagall and he’s being shunned like a criminal. And me—”

You paused, eyes suddenly wet, voice quieter.

“I would’ve died that night in the manor,” You whispered, “if you hadn’t lied to Bellatrix.”

He flinched.

You stepped toward him, hands reaching up, gently cupping his cheeks. Forcing him to meet your gaze.

“Don’t you dare pretend like it didn’t matter,” You said, “I know what you’ve done. I know who you are.”

You swallowed, “The second you had the chance to choose, Mattheo, you chose right.”

Then you added, barely above a whisper, “And that’s why I like you.”

“Because I saved your life?”

You shook your head.

“No,” You breathed, “Because you’re not who they said you were. Because you’re a good man. Whether you believe it or not.”

Mattheo looked at you like he didn’t know whether to shatter or kiss you.

You cleared your throat, tried to pull yourself together. Tried not to let your voice break completely, “So… are you coming to dinner next week?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you. Really looked. Like the pieces of his past were still rearranging themselves in his mind — and for the first time, they weren’t sharp enough to cut.

“I want you there,” You said, softer now, “They do too. But mostly… I do.”

That undid something in him.

Slowly, his shoulders relaxed. The tension in his jaw eased. His eyes dropped for a second, and then met yours again.

And when he nodded — small, certain — it felt like something cracked open between you. Not in a way that broke, but in a way that finally let the light in.

“I’ll come.” He said.

You smiled and reached for his shirt, smoothing out imaginary creases as your fingers lingered just a second longer than they needed to.

“Good.” You murmured.

He caught your hand gently in his, eyes searching yours.

And for the first time in a very long time, he didn’t feel like someone clawing his way out of the darkness.

He felt seen. He felt chosen.

And maybe — just maybe — he was starting to believe he deserved that too.

Mattheo did come for dinner.

And then he came again. And again after that.

It wasn’t like you suddenly fell into each other’s arms or kissed under the kitchen light while your mum offered dessert. But something shifted — subtle, steady. Like a hinge finally oiled. Like the space between you both had always been there, and now you were finally choosing to fill it.

There were still jokes, still the sarcasm and dry glances and moments where he pretended not to be listening even though he definitely was. But the edges were softer. The glances lingered longer. The silences stopped feeling like things to be filled, and more like things to be shared.

You saw it in the way he sat closer to you now. The way his shoulder would brush yours and stay there. The way his laugh sounded warmer in your presence. The way he always saved you the last spoonful of something without having to be asked.

You hadn’t defined anything. But you were definitely getting closer.

Which is how, a few weeks later, you found yourself sprinting into his flat like you owned the place — because, well, you sort of had started to.

“Matty!” You called out breathlessly, not even glancing at the figure lounging on the sofa, “I need to borrow your leather jacket—where is it? Don’t say it’s in the laundry, I swear to Merlin—”

You didn’t wait for a response.

You kicked off your shoes, breezed past the living room, and charged straight for his bedroom, shouting, “Thanks, by the way! You’re the best!”

Already halfway through the hallway, you threw a hand up in vague acknowledgment and barrelled through the door.

Stopped dead in your tracks.

There he was.

Mattheo.

Fresh from the shower. Shirtless. Damp curls sticking to his forehead. A towel slung low on his hips. Drops of water still trailing down his chest, slow and traitorous.

You made a noise that might’ve been a word. Or a gasp. Or a whimper.

He blinked, wide-eyed, clearly not expecting company, holding a shirt in one hand like he’d frozen mid-movement.

“…Hi.” He said, entirely too casual for someone who was 90% naked.

You let out a squeak — an actual squeak — slapped a hand over your eyes, and spun around so fast you almost collided with the doorframe.

“Oh my Godric, I’m so sorry—I thought you were on the couch, you were on the couch two seconds ago, I swear, I just— I didn’t see anything—well, okay, I did, but I didn’t mean to—”

You opened the door.

Slammed it shut again.

Then leaned against it, face flaming, pulse racing.

And from the living room came a voice that was not Mattheo’s:

“Hi.”

You blinked. Turned slowly.

And there, entirely not naked, spoon in mouth and legs still kicked up on the sofa, was Theodore Nott — looking very amused.

He raised the spoon lazily, “Hey. You alright there?”

You blinked at him, brain rebooting, “Nott?”

“In the flesh,” He said, raising a spoon in salute, “Should I be offended you ran past me like I was invisible?”

“I—” You blinked, face aflame, “I thought you were Mattheo.”

“I gathered.” He went back to his cereal.

“I just needed to borrow his jacket!” You said quickly, heat still burning in your cheeks, “Maybe take outfit photos in his mirror.”

Theo raised an eyebrow, “You don’t have your own mirror?”

“My mirror has an antique bronze frame,” You replied flatly, “It doesn’t match the vibe.”

“Right,” He said, utterly unconvinced, returning to his cereal, “Didn’t realize you two were that close.”

You stilled.

You swallowed. How were you supposed to respond to that? Yes, you were close to Mattheo. Close enough to know just how he likes his tea. Close enough to keep biscuits in his cupboard that were only for you. But you'd never said anything out loud. There were no labels. No claims.

It would be kind of humiliating to say something only for Mattheo to come strolling out and be like, “Nah, she just lingers here like a stray cat I accidentally fed once.”

Before you could decide what to say, the bedroom door opened.

Mattheo stepped out, now mercifully dressed in faded black jeans and a plain white T-shirt — though you weren’t sure if that made things better or worse. He had your favourite leather jacket of his slung casually over one arm, and his damp curls clung to his forehead in soft, lazy waves. You were suddenly very grateful he'd decided to wear the jacket… if only so Theo wouldn’t catch you blatantly ogling his best mate’s biceps.

Mattheo just grinned and sauntered over, totally unbothered, and shook the jacket out with a single practiced flick before holding it open for you.

You slid your arms into the sleeves as he held it up, the worn leather warm and familiar, smelling faintly like his cologne — and maybe a little like that soap you'd seen in his shower that was inexplicably labelled dragon ash and sandalwood.

He adjusted the collar gently, his fingers brushing against the back of your neck for a beat longer than necessary, “Looks better on you anyway.”

You glanced up at him, and his eyes met yours — something unspoken passing between you, soft and real. Then, all at once, he stepped back, cleared his throat, and looked toward Theo.

Theo’s smile widened like a cat who’d found something much more interesting than his cereal. “So, just to clarify… what is this, then?” he asked, gesturing between the two of you, “Because if this isn’t dating, it’s the most suspiciously couple-y non-dating situation I’ve ever seen.”

Mattheo didn’t even hesitate, “It’s none of your business.”

“Ohhh,” Theo said, leaning back, “Which means yes.”

You flushed. Mattheo sighed like this was a discussion he’d already prepared for in his head and hated every second of.

Then, with the most casual tone imaginable, he said to you, “I’m heading out with the guys later. Might be home late.”

You nodded, adjusting the sleeves of the jacket, "Alright. Have fun. Stay safe."

He looked you over, your outfit clearly indicating that you were going out with your friends, "You too. Send me a Patronus when you get home."

You hummed, giving him a small smile, "I know the drill."

Theo raised a brow, “Right, definitely not dating.”

Mattheo gave him a lazy middle finger but didn't deny it and turned back to you, his tone softening just a touch, “You staying for a bit?”

“I just needed the jacket,” You said, trying not to smile, "My Uber's gonna be here any second."

"Right," He responded, raking his eyes over your figure, choosing to tuck your hair behind your ear, "Then I guess I'll see you later."

"I guess you will." You chuckled, before turning to his friend who was watching you both like it was his favourite show. Not that he would even know what a television was, "It was nice seeing you again, Theo. Let's have a drink one day and catch up."

He nodded, giving you a smirk that didn't drop until you had exited and he slid his eyes back to Mattheo, “So when’s the wedding?”

The pub was alive with the low hum of laughter, clinking glasses, and the occasional shout from the dartboard. Mattheo sat at the far end of the worn wooden table, surrounded by Draco, Theo, Enzo, and Blaise. Pints and half-empty bottles were scattered across the table like trophies from battles fought and survived.

“Mate,” Draco nudged him with an elbow, voice tinged with mock disbelief, “Why aren’t you drinking us under the table tonight? You usually drown whatever’s bothering you.”

Mattheo glanced at his nearly untouched glass of cider, fingers tapping restlessly on the rim. “Not in the mood.” He muttered, eyes flickering toward the window, where the night had deepened and the streetlights cast pools of gold on the pavement.

“Not like you,” Blaise teased, “Usually, you’d be three sheets to the wind by now.”

Enzo smirked, “Yeah, what gives? You okay, Riddle?”

Mattheo’s gaze flicked toward the door, then the window, and back to the table, his fingers drumming a quiet rhythm on the wood. He looked… distracted.

Theo, sitting next to Mattheo with a mischievous grin, leaned in, “Oh, it’s because our dear friend here is waiting on a Patronus.”

The others blinked. “Patronus?” Enzo repeated.

Theo nodded, barely able to keep a straight face, “Yes from his cute little neighbour. She’s supposed to send it when she gets home safe after a night out. Mattheo’s been scanning the streets like a bloodhound all evening.”

Theo leaned back with a sly grin, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, “And the neighbour in question? Well, you’re all gonna love this—it's (L/N).”

Blaise nearly choked on his drink, “You’re joking.”

"In a classic tale of Romeo and Juliet, our dear Matty boy has found himself in love with the girl who literally killed his father."

"I'm not in love." Mattheo snapped but a car drove past, shining a light that looked too similar to a patronus and had his neck almost snapping in two in his effort to get a better look.

Enzo burst into laughter, "Oh, yeah, you're not in love, you absolute boob."

The knocking started faintly — not loud, but urgent. Sharp, clipped taps that cut through your dreams like a blade. You jolted upright, breath caught in your throat, blinking through the dark, tangled in your sheets like you’d been mid-battle instead of mid-dream.

It wasn’t that loud — but something in the rhythm of it pulled you from sleep like a hook behind the ribs.

You squinted at the clock. 03:17.

Groaning softly, you threw off the covers, feet hitting cold floorboards with a quiet thud. You reached for your wand automatically, the weight of it familiar in your palm, even as sleep still clung to you like cobwebs. The knocking came again — quicker now, more urgent.

You padded toward the front door, pulse starting to rise.

When you opened it — just a crack, just enough to see — the cold slammed into you. But it was nothing compared to what you saw standing there.

Theo Nott.

He looked like he’d run across London.

Hair wind-tossed. Chest heaving. Coat half-unbuttoned. His skin was pale, almost grey in the porchlight, and there was something feral in his eyes — panic, fury, fear, all twisted up into one tight, burning thread.

You stared, “Theo?”

His breath puffed in a sharp cloud, “It’s Mattheo.”

Your stomach dropped.

The door was open in seconds, and you grabbed his arm and yanked him inside before the words had even fully registered. It slammed shut behind him, the sound sharp as a gunshot.

“What happened?” You demanded, voice cracking now, “Is he hurt? Where is he?”

Theo didn’t answer immediately. He was pacing your living room like a caged thing, one hand knotted in his hair, the other clenched into a fist at his side.

“They arrested him.”

The air in the room turned cold.

Your voice came out as barely a whisper, “What?”

“Tonight. At the pub. We were all there — Blaise, Draco, Enzo. Just drinking. Laughing. Nothing serious. And then out of nowhere, the Aurors show up. Said there’d been reports. Wouldn’t say of what. Wouldn’t explain. They just—” His jaw tightened, “They just dragged him out.”

You stared, heart pounding, “For what?”

“Suspicion. Loitering. Someone said he ‘fit the description’ of a man acting odd in Knockturn Alley earlier that day — even though we’d been nowhere near there. One of the Aurors looked him dead in the face and said, ‘You know who you are.’ Like that was all the proof they needed.”

You sat down hard on the arm of your couch, breath punched from your lungs.

“He’s done nothing,” You said, “He hasn’t done anything—”

“They don’t care,” Theo snapped, suddenly furious again, “They see the name. They see the face. The bloody Mark. They don’t ask questions. They just act like he’s a ticking time bomb and they’re doing everyone a favour by locking him up before he explodes.”

You buried your face in your hands for a second, trying to breathe — trying to think, “Where is he now?”

“Ministry holding,” Theo said darkly, “They said they’ll process him in the morning. Until then, he’s ‘detained for questioning.’ Which we both know means they’ll keep him in a concrete cell all night and try to wear him down before anyone gets to him.”

You stood up suddenly, fury vibrating through your body.

Theo paused mid-pace to look at you.

“I know we’re not close,” He said, awkward again, “but I know you’re close to him. Closer than he lets on. And you—” He hesitated, “You’re friends with Potter. You’ve got… pull. People listen to you. I didn’t know who else to go to.”

But you were already pulling a jumper over your head, wand clenched in a white-knuckled grip. You barely heard him over the roar of your own blood in your ears.

“I’ll handle it,” You said, your voice low and shaking with rage, “But I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything.”

“Go to him. Now. Stay with him. Don’t let them bully him. Don’t let him say anything to anyone without a lawyer present. No comment. No statements. Not even what his bloody name is. Got it?”

Theo nodded, grim, “Got it.”

You followed him, stepping into your boots, wand ready. You didn’t feel sleepy anymore. You didn’t feel anything but hot, burning, righteous fury.

Because Mattheo had spent years trying to claw his way out of the shadow of his past. Years trying to prove that he wasn’t like him. That he wasn’t like them.

And now they’d dragged him back in — without a charge, without a reason, without a second thought.

This was why you left the wizarding world. Why you’d turned your back on the Ministry and its post-war morality circus. You’d fought in the war, bled in it, lost friends in it — and still they hadn’t learned.

Still they saw people like Mattheo Riddle as enemies, not survivors. Not victims of the same fear and violence that had nearly destroyed them all.

At the end of the day, the truth didn’t matter. Not as long as they were able to cram you painfully into whatever predisposed ideas they had.

The two of you raised your wands.

And in two cracks of displaced air, you were gone — vanishing into the night.

Both headed to two separate locations.

You were about to officially return to the wizarding world. And rain hell upon them. You were going to make them listen. You were going to make them pay.

The Ministry’s grand chamber felt colder than usual — or maybe it was just the weight of what was about to happen. Mattheo stood quietly beside you, hands clenched at his sides, eyes sharp but guarded. Harry, Ron, and Hermione flanked you, each radiating the same burning frustration.

You moved through the Ministry of Magic’s atrium like a hurricane. Paper memos paused mid-flight. Aurors stepped aside. One man even dropped his coffee.

Security tried to stop you at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement’s doors.

They did not succeed.

“You can’t just—”

“I can,” You snapped, wand already glowing, “And I will.”

You shoved open the office doors of Minister Fudge so hard they banged against the walls. His aides leapt to their feet, startled. But you didn’t stop. You didn’t blink. Your eyes were locked on the man behind the desk — Cornelius Fudge, still wearing that smug little bowler hat, like he hadn’t spent the last decade proving he cared more about saving face than saving lives.

Fudge barely looked up, “Ah, the prodigal warriors return.”

You didn’t flinch. “Where is he?” You demanded, voice low but fierce, “Where is Mattheo Riddle?”

Fudge blinked, slightly surprised by your fury. Of course he wasn’t aware of just how close you both were — you could only assume he believed Mattheo wouldn’t be missed, or that those who did care about him wouldn’t have the power to do anything about it.

“He’s in custody. Being held for questioning. Suspicion of—”

Harry cut in, voice thick with disgust, “Suspicion of what, exactly? Because I saw the arrest report — and there’s absolutely nothing of value there.”

Hermione stepped forward, eyes blazing, “You hold a man without charge because of his name and history? That’s not justice — it’s persecution.”

Fudge arched a brow, calm, as you began to tremble with rage, “He’s being held for questioning. Surely even you understand the need for caution, considering his—”

“He defected,” Ron snapped, “He fought with us. He was on our side at the end of the war.”

“And how exactly would you know that?” Fudge folded his hands neatly, "You refused to give your account to the ministry after the war. Refused to cooperate with us."

You stared at him, disbelief rising like bile, “I fought in the war. I didn’t sit like a right old fart in an office and send children to do my job for me.”

That struck. His expression flickered. But he recovered quickly.

“You have no proof,” He said, “No statements. No witnesses. Nothing documented. Nothing official. Just your word, I suppose?”

Your jaw clenched.

And then, the heavy oak doors creaked open again behind you.

The final recipient of your frantic Patronus had arrived.

“I would hardly call my word ‘unofficial’.” Came a cool, clipped voice.

Every head turned.

Headmistress Minerva McGonagall stepped into the room like she owned it. Her tartan robes swirled around her ankles, her bun was tight, and her wand was already out — not drawn, just held. Like a promise.

“Headmistress.” Fudge said tightly.

“I am here,” She said, “because you are about to repeat the mistakes of your past. And I, for one, will not stand by and let it happen again.”

She turned to you with a brief, firm nod. Then addressed the room.

“Mattheo Riddle was present at the Battle of Hogwarts. He cast no Unforgivables. He struck down more Death Eaters than many fully trained Aurors. He aided in the evacuation of the Astronomy Tower. I can attest to this. I witnessed it myself.”

Fudge scoffed, “If you want to make a case, you need to conduct a hearing. Present evidence. Until then, Riddle remains in custody. This isn’t the proper procedure.”

“You’re right,” Hermione snapped, “Which is why you’ll release Mattheo now and arrange a hearing immediately — not weeks from now, not months. Until then, he walks free.”

You stepped forward, voice like steel, “I have a reporter from every major wizarding outlet standing outside this building. Do you know how long they’ve waited to see me after I disappeared for years? How eager they are for their long-awaited interview with all four of us?”

Fudge paled slightly.

“I can see the headlines now,” You said, voice dripping with venom, “Fudge Fudged Up. Yet again.”

Harry’s eyes were burning, “You think they’ll defend you after seeing how you handled Sirius Black? You locked him up on false charges. How many more lives are you willing to ruin?”

“I will make sure you never make another decision without the press crawling down your throat and breathing down your neck — second-guessing everything you say. Because if you think I won’t drag your entire office into the dirt for this, then you haven’t been paying attention.”

For a moment, the room was silent. Thick with tension. Even Harry looked vaguely stunned.

Fudge’s face had gone bone white, his knuckles gripping the edge of the desk.

“Very well,” He said finally, “Release him. No charges. Effective immediately.”

Headmistress McGonagall’s voice cut through the silence like a knife.

“Thank you, Minister.” She said, her tone measured but unmistakably pointed.

You didn’t hold back.

Without missing a beat, you shot over your shoulder, loud enough for Fudge to hear clearly, “I’m not thanking you for shit. Go fuck yourself.”

“A displeasure as always, Cornelius,” Ron added as he turned to leave, “Make sure to get off that fat arse every once in a while and do some actual work. Can’t let the children have all the fun.”

You didn’t look back.

None of you did.

But the echo of your words — and your fury — lingered in the halls long after you’d gone.

The iron doors of the holding chamber creaked open with a groan, and Mattheo stepped into the atrium — free at last.

The Ministry’s harsh lighting did nothing to dull the exhaustion written across his face or the tension that lingered in his shoulders. His shirt was rumpled, his hair a mess from running his hands through it one too many times. Flanked by Blaise, Theo, Draco, and Enzo — all equally sleep-deprived and stone-faced — he looked like a man still caught somewhere between disbelief and survival.

But the second he saw you sprinting across the floor toward him, something in his expression cracked wide open. The weight dropped from his shoulders.

He didn’t even get a breath in before you launched forward.

“Mattheo!”

His head snapped up just in time to catch you as you practically threw yourself into his arms. His hands rose on instinct, gripping your waist, steadying you like you were the only thing anchoring him to the ground.

You pulled back just enough to grab his face, scanning every inch like you had to see for yourself that he was okay, “Are you alright? Did they hurt you? Did they—?”

“I’m okay,” He murmured, voice low and raw, eyes locked on yours, “You came for me.”

“Of course I did.” You whispered, like it was the simplest truth in the world.

Behind you, Harry, Hermione, and Ron caught up at a far more leisurely pace. They stopped a few paces back, watching you with fond, amused expressions.

“She’s gone." Ron muttered, shaking his head fondly.

“Precisely,” Hermione said, lips twitching, “I haven’t seen her this taken with someone since your brother Bill visited in second year.”

Ron recoiled, “Why would you remind me of that?”

Hermione laughed.

Harry just smiled, arms crossed, “Good for her.”

Across the way, Blaise, Enzo, and Draco were watching the reunion unfold with similarly raised eyebrows and smirking mouths.

“Is it just me,” Enzo said, “or does that look a little more intense than casual neighbours?”

Draco arched a brow, “Considering she just threw herself into his arms? I’d say yeah.”

Theo didn’t even bother hiding his grin, “Told you.”

As pleasantries began to pass between the groups — polite nods, cautious glances, a few lingering tensions quickly diffused by Ron and Blaise’s sarcastic commentary — you and Mattheo found yourselves standing with Headmistress McGonagall, who approached with her usual purposeful stride.

She looked at Mattheo first, and while her expression was sharp as ever, her eyes were kind. “Mr. Riddle,” She said crisply, “What happened to you was shameful. Unacceptable. And not the kind of justice we fought for.”

Mattheo shifted slightly, unsure how to respond.

But McGonagall continued, voice dry, “And I must say… when your Patronus came hurtling into my chambers at three o’clock this morning, I was more than a little surprised. I haven’t seen her beg for anything since third year, when Peeves nicked her entire potions essay.”

You flushed, brushing a hand over your face, “It wasn’t begging.”

Mattheo turned to you, gaze soft and unreadable — something between gratitude, guilt, and something else deeper. Warmer.

“I was worried about him.” You admitted timidly.

McGonagall’s brow rose, “So it would seem.”

You let out a small laugh, breath finally loosening in your chest. Mattheo’s ears turned pink, and you didn’t miss the way he relaxed the longer you stood close.

The headmistress tilted her head slightly, “Truthfully, I hadn’t expected to hear from you again. Especially after how soundly you ignored my last offer.”

Mattheo blinked, “Offer?”

“She was offered the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor,” McGonagall said, turning to him, “At the time, I thought she’d be a good fit. Now I’m convinced she’s the best one.”

You hesitated, just like you always did.

But Mattheo didn’t give you the chance to fall silent again.

“You should take it,” He said, firm and certain, “Your grades were the best in our year. You literally teach now — and you’re brilliant at it. You’d make a great professor, (Y/N). Hogwarts would be lucky to have you.”

You blinked at him, startled, “You think?”

He nodded, voice softening, “I know.”

McGonagall watched the exchange with something suspiciously close to amusement, “Wise words, Mr. Riddle. You’d do well to listen to your boyfriend, Ms. (L/N).”

You both flushed scarlet.

But you couldn’t even bring yourself to be embarrassed.

Because for the first time in a long, long while — standing there, surrounded by the people who knew your heart and the boy who held it — everything felt right.

And maybe, just maybe, it was time to come home.

“Then I suppose I’ll have to accept.” You said at last, exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

Mattheo leaned toward you — and before you could turn away, his hand slid into yours. Not in a dramatic way. Not like he was making a scene. Just… quiet and sure. His thumb brushed lightly across your knuckles, grounding you.

You looked over at him — and the smile he gave you in return made something in your chest flip.

He didn’t say a word.

He didn’t have to.

You turned back to McGonagall, looking at your future boss with a smirk, “Drinks? To celebrate?”

McGonagall gave a long-suffering sigh — but her eyes sparkled, “I suppose one will do, for good will.”

Ron chimed in, already slinging an arm around Theo’s shoulders, “I say we make it a proper celebration. We’ve earned it.”

Hermione arched a brow, “Only you would be up for getting hammered at ten in the morning.”

Draco shared a look with Harry — who gave a subtle shrug, like, he’s got a point — and Blaise was already pulling out his wand to start listing nearby pubs.

You laughed — light and easy now — like the worst of it had passed, like something had finally cracked open in the best possible way.

Mattheo squeezed your hand again, just once.

And this time, you squeezed back.

The apartment building was quiet when you both got back.

The night had blurred into something golden — laughter echoing down cobblestone streets, half-empty pint glasses clinking on wooden tables, Theo and Harry nearly arm-wrestling over who paid the tab (they both lost), and McGonagall giving one tight-lipped smile before declaring she’d “had quite enough of rowdy children for one night” and Disapparating with a dramatic crack.

You were still smiling when you reached Mattheo's door, still glowing from the rush of everything.

Mattheo put his key into the lock—and then paused.

You turned to him, the adrenaline finally ebbing now that it was just the two of you, your pulse still not entirely steady — not after the last twenty-four hours, not after everything that had just happened.

You studied him in the dim light of the hallway. The bruised shadows under his eyes. The tight line of his jaw. The way he was looking at you — like he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite figure out how.

There had been something building there, thick in the air between you. Something humid and suffocating since the moment you entered the bar. A part of you had wanted to leave, the lack of sleep beginning to weigh down on your limbs, but then you saw Lorenzo and Hermione clink their glasses in quiet solidarity — and you stayed. You leaned against Mattheo, your head on his shoulder, lulled by the quiet of the nearly empty pub, the alcohol making you soft and sleepy.

Mattheo turned to you, “Do you want to come in?”

You chuckled, “For a cuppa?”

He gave you a half smile, “Not this time.”

You let him lead you inside. Let him shut the door behind you and crowd you gently against it, looking at you with half-lidded eyes and a reverence that stole the breath from your lungs.

God, you wanted to kiss him. Wanted to mold your mouth to his, press your body against his, and lose yourself in the gravity of him.

“Thank you,” He said finally, voice low, nose a hair away from yours, “For today. For yesterday. For everything.”

You raised your eyes to his, still pressed between him and the door, trying to swallow the want pooling at the back of your throat like syrup, “It’s what you do for people you care about.”

He looked at you like you’d just said something sacred.

And then, softly — like the words hurt on the way out, “Do you?”

Your throat tightened.

“Yeah,” You whispered, “I do.”

Mattheo didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just looked at you, long and quiet — like he was memorizing the moment. Like he was waiting for something to shift.

You reached up and pressed your hand to his chest, fingers spread over the steady rhythm of his heart.

“Do you?”

His hand came up slowly, curling around yours, “I’ve been trying not to.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t think I was allowed to have something good.” He dipped his head, eyes flicking to your lips, “But then you showed up. And now I don’t want anything else. I’ll do whatever I have to do to deserve you.”

You cupped his cheeks, brushing your thumbs gently over his cheekbones. “Come here.” You whispered.

And then you kissed him.

No fanfare. No fireworks. Just you and him — pressed together under the soft glow of the hallway light. Your hands slid from his face to his shoulders, wrapping around his neck as you tilted your head, standing on your toes and pressing your body flush to his.

Mattheo kissed you back with quiet desperation, brows furrowed like he was feeling too much at once, like kissing you was the only thing keeping him from breaking apart. His hands cupped your face like he didn’t trust the world not to take you from him.

And you kissed him like you were trying to make up for every moment he thought he was unloved.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and tangled in each other, he rested his forehead against yours.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, softly:

"My dad is going to be thrilled."

Mattheo laughed against your mouth, "I can't say he's going to be too thrilled about what I'm about to do to his only daughter."

You shook your head, laughing — but you didn’t stop him. Not when he kissed you again, not when his hands found your waist, not when on this night, he finally, finally, became yours.

Bonus:

It hadn’t been that long since you walked these halls as a student. The scent of old stone and parchment still felt like home, and the echo of your laughter in the stairwells was barely faded.

Which is why it felt a little surreal, standing at the front of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom — your classroom now — watching twenty tired students blink at you, half-asleep, post-midterms.

You remembered this feeling too well. The post-exam lull. The I’d-rather-be-anywhere-but-in-class energy that leaked into the air like a sleeping draught.

So you did what any responsible professor would do.

Time for a little... intervention.

"Alright," You said, clapping your hands once, “Seeing as the lot of you look one Muffliato away from a nap, I brought a guest to help with today’s demonstration.”

The classroom door creaked open at just the right moment.

Boots echoed on stone. A shadow fell across the threshold.

And then in walked Mattheo Riddle — Auror robes fitted and dark, wand holstered, smug expression firmly in place.

The class lit up like you’d cast Lumos Maxima.

Half the class gasped.

The girls — no, scratch that, several students of all genders — squealed.

You actually had to bite back a laugh.

It was like déjà vu. For a moment, you were thirteen again, sitting in this very classroom, watching your friends clutch their chests over Gilderoy Lockhart like he was the second coming of Merlin.

Except now Lockhart was replaced by your fiancé. And your fiancé actually could duel.

You ignored the whispers, fighting a smile as Mattheo strolled in like he owned the castle. You could tell he was enjoying every second of the attention.

"Morning, class," Mattheo said with a smirk, scanning the room like he already knew the effect he had. His eyes finally landed on you, "Hope you're ready to learn something useful for once."

You rolled your eyes, "Don’t get cocky, Riddle.”

The students were wide-eyed now, completely awake, some whispering furiously. You let the tension build, then smiled sweetly.

You turned back to the class. “Since most of you seem to have forgotten how to hold a wand upright this week, Auror Riddle and I will be demonstrating live defensive magic.” You paused, “Via duel.”

The room exploded.

“You’re gonna duel him?!”

“IS THIS EVEN LEGAL?”

“Mister Riddle, PLEASE go easy on her—”

“She’s gonna mop the floor with him, are you kidding?!”

Mattheo tilted his head toward you, amused, "Your students seem confident in your skills. I’d hate to disappoint them when I win."

You scoffed, narrowing your eyes at him, "I hope you can still keep your job once I humiliate you, darling."

“Oh, it’s like that?” He asked, stepping onto the platform. His wand slid into his hand like it belonged there, “Want to make it interesting, sweetheart?”

"I'm listening."

His grin was wicked, “If I win, we move the wedding up. This winter.”

You blinked, caught off guard for half a second.

A chorus of gasps filled the room.

You raised a brow, “That’s all? I was expecting something scandalous.”

“Scandalous comes after,” He said, low enough only you could hear. Then louder: “Well, Professor, do we have a deal?”

You tipped your head, “Deal.”

The class whooped as you took your stance. Wands raised. Eyes locked.

It started playful — spells exchanged like inside jokes, your shields strong, your counters cheeky. You danced around each other, laughing, bickering like you always did.

“Getting slow in your old age.” You taunted.

“Still fast enough to catch you, sweetheart.” He replied, flicking your spell back with a grin.

You both fell into rhythm effortlessly, spells flying and deflecting with heat and precision. It was like dancing — a dance only the two of you knew the steps to. You hit him with a Flipendo that nearly knocked him on his ass; he responded with a Petrificus Partialis that froze your wand arm mid-jinx.

You countered just in time to send his disarming spell into the ceiling, and he laughed again, breathless, “Merlin, I forgot how annoying you are when you’re winning.”

"You're saying that as if I'm not always winning." You said, already flicking your wand again.

The class was on the edge of their seats. Screaming. Chanting. Cheering for both of you like it was the final match of the Triwizard Tournament.

But then — a flash of motion. A student near the edge tripped on their bag, almost falling off the bench. You turned instantly, wand snapping to cast a cushion charm.

And that was when Mattheo’s spell struck.

Not hard — a harmless stunner meant for flair — but it knocked you slightly off-balance.

The platform dimmed. The match was technically over.

Mattheo, smug as anything, raised his hands as he descended from the platform, walking toward you. “Victory,” He called, lowering his wand with a bow so smug you nearly hexed him right there, “Riddle for the win.”

You glared at him, but still let him wrap his arms around your waist as he lifted you down from the platform — an action that did not go unnoticed by your students, who began to squeal.

“I was distracted. I had you cornered until the end.”

“Still counts,” He said, grinning as he stepped closer, “Should’ve kept your eyes on the target, love.”

You narrowed your eyes, then tilted your head in thought. Loud enough for the class to hear, you said:

“Say I won, and I’ll marry you this weekend.”

The entire class collectively gasped.

“PROFESSOR—”

“WAIT THAT’S NOT FAIR—”

“THAT’S CHEATING!!”

“YOU CAN’T BRIBE HIM INTO LOSING—”

Mattheo laughed so hard he had to put a hand on the desk to steady himself, “You heard them, love. It’s not fair.”

You gave a little shrug, completely unbothered, “Life’s not fair.”

He stepped closer, wand twirling between his fingers, “So what you’re saying is... you’re too proud to admit you lost."

You smiled sweetly, “No. I’m saying you’re going to say I won. And I’ll be in white by Saturday.”

The class exploded.

“OH MY GOD THEY’RE ACTUALLY DOING IT—”

“WE’RE GOING TO A WEDDING???”

“I’M CRYING—”

"I’ll be Mrs. Riddle this time next week," You sang, "Going once, going twice—"

“The greatest duelist of all time,” Mattheo declared, loud enough for everyone to hear, “will be my wife by this time next week.”

The class lost it.

Cheers, whistles, someone even threw a quill in the air like confetti. You rolled your eyes, cheeks warm, and Mattheo just smirked, slipping his hand into yours as you both walked out past the chaos.

“Can’t wait to marry me, huh?” You teased, straightening out his robes, choosing not to kiss him — not with your audience so keenly watching.

He leaned in close, brushing his lips near your ear, “You kidding? I've been ready since the day you introduced me to that shitty Australian dingo."

You laughed softly.

Somewhere behind you, a student whispered, "Is he talking about Bluey?

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

@haniscrying

@superheroesaremyjam113263

@writers-whirlwind

@paankhaleyaaar

Harry Potter Taglist:

@downbad4reid

@revesephemeres

@catiwinky

Mattheo Riddle Taglist:

@redeemingvillains

@baekjeonheo-blog

@genterom903

Slytherin Boys Taglist:

@laufeysvalentine

@theodoresvalentine

[nekonaps0]

Hiii, first time requesting smth from you but i LOVE your work! Its just so easy to read, its descriptive but not too wordy, which is a pet peeve of mine for fan fics lol.

Anyway, could you write a reader/idia of an unlikely pairing? Like the reader is almost a polar opposite of idia but they somehow manage to get together?

Thank you so much! And again, keep up the good work <3

Out of my league

✦fem!reader

✦characters: Idia

✦Social anxiety (Idia), fluff overdose, Idia overthinking literally everything

The first time Idia Shroud noticed you, it was because you were loud.

Not in the annoying way. Not in the “make him mute the game” way. Just…so present.

You moved through Night Raven like you belonged in the center of every scene: laughing in the dining hall, calling out to people in the hallway, showing up to class with glitter on your face and a joke in your mouth. You wore the loudest colors. You clapped when you laughed.

You were, in every possible way, a walking migraine to his quiet existence.

So why, in the name of all things, did his stomach do a weird little flutter every time you passed by?

It started with an accident. You had wandered into the Ignihyde dorm looking for Ortho who adored you, naturally and you got lost.

He panicked when you suddenly knocked on his door and you just stand in his doorstep with a big smile. Not because he didn’t want you there. But because his room was a disaster of cables, figurines, wall-to-wall monitors, and one very red, very reclusive housewarden in pajama pants…

You looked around with stars in your eyes and said

“Holy crap, your room looks like the inside of an anime opening! This is SO COOL.”

Idia glitched.

Like, emotionally glitched.

No one ever said his world was cool. He spent years trying to keep it separate from everyone else’s.

You plopped down on his beanbag chair like you belonged there and pointed at one of his favorite rare figurines.

“Is that the limited edition figurine from that new anime? One of my friend has one. He says it’s cursed.”

He choked on his own spit.

You grinned. “So… are you cursed too?”

He didn’t know what to do with that.

•

You didn’t stop visiting.

At first, Idia assumed you were just being nice, or maybe doing some weird social experiment to see if he’d explode.

But you kept showing up. Kept dragging him into sunlight… metaphorically, thank the gods… and demanding his opinion on things.

“Would you still like me if I was a worm?”


“Which anime would we be the power couple in?”


“Should I dye my hair blue to match yours, or would that be cringe?”

He answered in stammers and soft muttering, while his hair burned pink like he was about to self-combust.

You made it worse by leaning in every time.

Like he was worth listening to.

The thing about you was: you never asked him to change.

You didn’t force him to go to parties. You didn’t drag him into crowds. You just… showed up. With snacks. With stories. With shiny trinkets and strange animal facts and the warmest presence he’d ever known.

And somehow, despite all odds, Idia started opening the door before you knocked.

One day, he asked.

“Why do you… like hanging out with someone like me?”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You’re, like, sunshine and shouting. And I’m… basement gloom and digital ghosts.”

You tilted your head, lips twitching. “And yet, here you are, warming up to me like a lizard in a heat lamp.”

He short-circuited.

But you weren’t done.

“You don’t get it, do you? You’re easy to be around. You don’t fake things. You care about stuff…like, deeply. And when you talk about the things you love? You glow, Idia. You’re brilliant.”

He stared. Speechless.

And then you kissed his cheek. Casual. Soft. Like it wasn’t the biggest moment of his life.

“Also,” you added, winking, “you’re cuter than you think.”

Idia was red for six hours straight.

•

It took time…weeks…months, loaded silences and soft heartbeats, but eventually…

You were curled beside him on the bed, watching a boss fight. You shouted excitedly when he landed a crit. He blushed. You cheered. He muttered something about how his “damage stat increased just because you were watching.”

And then, quietly, tentatively, he took your hand.

“I don’t… I mean, I didn’t think… someone like you could like someone like me.”

You turned and kissed the top of his head.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Shroud. We’re a legendary drop—rare, chaotic, and somehow exactly what we needed.

..............................................................................................................................

Hiiii~ I hope you like it ✨

[leannswritings]

3 fishes

Syn - a very..unexpected gift, but what’s a gift without joy?

Word count : 1.4k

Warnings : NOT PROOFREAD, none rlly, fluff, new found parents >.<

A/N : satan works fast but fanfic writers work faster. This is the first time I’m writing a fic that involves children..I hope it’s ok lol. But junho would def be such a good dad.

You didn’t know what to expect as you ran towards Junho’s apartment, after a short call of him saying he needed you sounding like he was fighting back his overloading emotions. Whatever it was you weren’t prepared for what you saw when you opened his door to see him standing at the kitchen table with a baby in a basket on the table.

“What the f— um. Is the like some joke or something ? Or did you cheat on me and some girl dropped the kid off? I need an explanation in 2.5 seconds or else I’m gonna—“

“Wha— no? I wouldn’t do that. Stop watching those dramas you watch. It was In-ho. Why? I don’t know.”

“Ok. So your missing brother dropped off a baby. For what, for you to raise? What are you going to do junho.”

You go to pinch your nose bridge to try and wake you up, or give you some type of idea or something to think of.

“I’ll Raise her. He left enough money to support her for the rest of her life. I have too. It’s the right thing to do you know.”

Junho went on this whole rant about raising the baby, if he were to be honest he couldn’t understand or think if it was because the baby was a reminder of his brother or if it was because he deep down wanted to raise a child.

“We. Junho. We have too.”

You replied to his “I have too” rant. You weren’t gonna let him do this alone. There’s no way you could let him, you’ve shared too many conversations about the future together to allow it. Being a single parent wasn’t an easy task either, this had to be done together. You picked the baby up, feeling her weight against your arms, the weight made you feel something you’ve never felt before, you felt an odd type of joy from this small interaction. Junho seems to be feeling the same way, watching how you held and smiled at the small baby in your arms, from that point on he knew exactly what to do.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

For the next 3 months you and junho did co-parenting as you were mostly at work and he still stayed with his mother. It didn’t take long for him to propose to you after finding the perfect place for y’all to move in, there was no way he was going to marry you without having a place to put you and the baby in, he planned everything carefully so it would go as planned. While engaged you moved in together, decorated the rooms together, painting your lives together like you painted the walls of the rooms. Co-parenting was finally no longer, it was just parenting as you settled into the house together. You and junho continued to discuss on how to raise her together until she reached at least school age, since both of you have never been around children this young, and so far have been getting help from friends and junhos mother. The agreement that he would be a stay at home dad, though he would’ve preferred to take care of both you and work, he agreed due to the fact you were slightly a workaholic and preferred to keep working more than staying home, and on your days off you would take over and give him time to rest. The conversation continued throughout the night until you fell asleep in his arms.

Today was the last day at work before going on “vacation” for your wedding, you’ve next took time off before so it was going to be strange not going into work but as you sat at your desk and thought about it, maybe it was a good thing that you were going to finally get some type of break, even with how bad your sleep schedule has been you’ve still found yourself at work. This gives you plenty of time to spend with junho.. plenty of time to spend as a family. As you were deep in thought one of your co workers walked over to you and spoke.

“I didn’t know you had a baby? I don’t even remember seeing you pregnant ”

The worker pointed at the photo of a baby and man on your Lock Screen.

“Ah— funny story actually, but yes, I do.”

“Well..they don’t look that much like you.. maybe they will go into the features.”

The worker said, trying to recall if you were ever pregnant or took maternity leave. You just stared at the worker and oddly smiled as you packed up your stuff to leave work. Saying goodbye to everyone as you walked out of the office. When you finally got to the lobby you saw junho standing there with a scroller, you stood there for a second and took a few pictures , gosh he looked so cute in that moment. He finally looked up and waved at you, you immediately ran over and gave him a hug, looking in the scroller to see the fast asleep baby. The long walk to your workplace must have put her asleep. As you walked back to your place you start to talk to junho.

“Since I’m free now..should we do something tomorrow? The 3 of us.”

“Like..?”

“Mm— maybe go to an aquarium? I should be clean and quiet enough for her..but what do you think.”

“Mm sounds good.”

He wrapped his arm around you pulling you closer to him, laying a kiss on your head.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The next day went perfectly, between the first full night of rest since you had no work to worry about and junho being the one to wake up in the night, which you felt bad about letting him do it by himself— but of course he always brushed it off, and maybe the fact that when you finally got over 8 hours of sleep for the first time you woke up to a warm smile. Getting ready to go out was a little messy though, trying to figure out how to fit everything in the baby bag and how to fix the baby carrier that you’ve yet to use, in case it was needed. You eventually put on subtle matching clothes, you figure it would be a good place to take pictures also, so you should all dress well.

Just as planned the aquarium was perfectly quiet and beautiful. If you were being honest you were the one who really wanted to go to the aquarium. Now that you were there, it was quiet enough for you to hear your own thoughts, causing you to actually think about the “situation” you were in. Getting married to an amazing man and starting a family, sure you’ve thought about this before but now that you were finally slowing down your working and racing mind it hit even more. Before you knew it a your eyes started to water, reality was a little too good to be true. It’s like his spidey senses were tingling because he promptly stopped walking and turned to you, you watched you as you looked up at the ceiling trying to make the tears go back where they came from, he grabbed your hand and pulled you into a hug. He immediately started to reassure you, reassuring you about what was going on and how you were doing well no matter if you were at work, home, or even here in this very moment you were doing your very best, especially as someone who’s never had a child or anything similar. He placed kisses on your forehead as he calmly talked to you. Who knew reality would hit you as soon as you stop being so busy..huh. You looked up at him and nodded, you saw a worker passing by so you let go of junho and quickly went to the worker to ask him something.

“Excuse me.. do you mind taking a photo of us?”

You asked the worker all teary eyed.

The worker didn’t know if they should be concerned or not but they nodded as they grabbed your phone. You walked over and took your baby out of the scroller held her in your arms. You stood beside junho looking at him while smiling as the worker took pictures of it without you know, you finally looked ahead and smiled at the camera as the worker took more pictures. The worker walked over to you to give your phone back, but didn’t leave before saying.

“What a beautiful family you have.”

[lbjeff]

In the end, F!Dan still go on a date with Dick, he (she) just has week spot for a tiny guy like that. Then Danny see them

Danny: Hello Dan, good outfit. But since when you got a rat for a pet?

Dick, think Danny is his love rival: Hey! That is not nice

Danny: Oh, it can talk! Not so clearly though. By the way, I thought you supposed to stay at home today for your project?

Dick: Hey! That none of your business. And she already has a boyfriend and …

F!Dan, who still a little gremlin: Hi dad, didn’t realize you also go here. This is my friend, Dick.

Dick: …

Dick: … that your dad? But he looks even younger than me

F!Dan: Yes, he looks kinda young for his ages

Danny, the one who passed the gremlin’s gene for all his “children”: Aw! Thank you sweet heart. By the way, can you tell me why you didn’t stay at home for your project? And who is this Dick?

Dick, sweating really hard cause he just met his “girlfriend”’s dad. But before he has a chance to reintroduce himself, a familiar man comes behind Danny

Bruce: Danny sweetheart, what take you so long… oh, hi Dick

Danny: You know him?

Bruce: Yes, he is my son

Danny: What a coincidence! *point at F!Dan* Here is my daughter!

Bruce: Woah! So I guess they already met they new step-siblings

Danny: I know, right?

Dick now feels like he has been throw into a dream world, the nightmare one.

Tim, watching all on the camera, calm sips his coffee. He is the one who introduced Bruce to Danny, Jason helped him

Tim: That what you get for tried to matching Bruce and Clark to make me and Kon being a siblings. Hope you find peace, Dick.

P/s: Dick did try to match Bruce and Clark before, he just want Bruce to have a partner. He also try to match Bruce with other heroes, but none of it had worked. And now when he gave up on Bruce’s romance life, Bruce decided to date his girlfriend’s dad. You could imagine his feeling: shattering into pieces.

P/s of p/s: Dick also did try to match Bruce with Green Arrow, that almost get Jason and Roy being siblings. That why Jason helped Tim. F!Dan also know about it but she thinks it is funny, and Danny is not really her dad so she just goes with it

Dan as a woman? Can't wait for him/her to join the club of "Bad bitches Dick Grayson has epically fumbled"!

Context

Dick: *wailing his heart out*

F!Dan: Damn, he’s still crying?

Jason: He hasn’t stopped since you told him that you wouldn’t go on a date with him today bc his outfit was giving homeless.

Dan: Because it does :/

Dick: *crying* but it’s comfortable!

Dan: Dick! I cannot be seen with you like this in this form! I’d look like a goddess with her pet rat!

Dick: *crying even harder*

[ssentimentals]

hi love! i hope you're having a lovely day today^^ i'd like to request angsty woozi with prompt 16 pls. thank you so so muchhhh 🫶🏼

hi, darling! thank you, hope you're having a lovely day too! thank you for requesting, hopefully you'll like it! 💜

prompt: 'i'm so mad at you for this, but i'm angrier at myself for knowing i'll forgive you for it.'

the truth about loving someone is that sometimes it's not easy and it doesn't come as natural breathing.

'i'm not sorry,' you repeat like a broken record.

yeah, it's not easy, especially now. 'i was as surprised as you when she got there. i told you that me and my ex are running in the same circles and our meeting at some point was inevitable. i told you that me and her are cool-'

'well i am not cool with her,' you interrupt with voice full of venom. 'and she clearly is not cool with me, so.'

jihoon's right eyebrow twitches. he takes a deep breath. 'why would she be cool with you if you were mean to her the whole night?'

you don't reply, not at first. jihoon usually has an ocean of patience reserved for you, but now this ocean turned into a little poodle which is quickly getting dry. you never acted like that, hell, he didn't know you're capable of acting like that - mean, rude, brushing the person off like they're an empty place. and jihoon knows his ex acted off too, he was shocked when she started getting all touchy, but he could handle it. the whole point was in him handling it and he would've, he'd never want for you to feel insecure or get any wrong ideas because his heart is so full of you that there's no place for anyone else. and he would've made it clear to both you and his ex, but then you decided that you came over with a solid decision of acting like the world's brattiest and meanest girlfriend and- well. jihoon is not exactly impressed.

'at least now she knows that she can't just walk over and start climbing my boyfriend like a tree,' you huff petulantly.

'i was handling it,' jihoon grits out, trying not to lose his patience. 'i-'

'you weren't quick enough!'

jihoon stares at your stubbornly raised chin and thinks that he should be mad. he is mad, he's unbelievably angry because you are better than that, better than those mean and petty remarks, better than getting insecure because of the other girl. he thinks that he shouldn't feel the fondness warming his chest at the sight, but he does. 'i'm so mad at you for this, but i'm angrier at myself for knowing i'll forgive you for it.'

and that's the truth, isn't it? because deep down he knows that he should've closed the chapter with his ex better, much better so you'd never even have a fleeting thought about her in your head. he knows you're not that - this mean, rude, petty person - and he knows that if it all came down to it, there's his huge part that did something wrong in the equation. jihoon is mad: at you for acting up, at himself for letting this happen, at himself for not being able to actually truly be angry at you for this. loving someone isn't easy and doesn't always come as natural as breathing, but loving you is a one constant thing in his life.

'i'm sorry,' you mutter and when he looks up in surprise, you quickly add: 'not for what i did, but for the way it made you feel. i never want you to feel... like that.'

he chuckles. there goes his angel. you take small step towards him with eyes blown out with fear that he might reject you. and jihoon can be as mad as he wants, but rejecting you is something he can't do. 'i'm really angry,' he says, taking your hand in his. 'it- it showed you in such a bad light and i don't want other people thinking that this is how you are because it's not.'

you soften, stepping even closer so your noses almost brush. 'i don't care about other people. i acted rough, i can admit it. but that girl didn't get any other hints, you were being too nice and she understood it in the wrong way.' you lean in, kissing tip of his nose cutely. 'sorry.'

jihoon sags. he should fight it more, probably. but he really can't. 'no more acting like a crazy girlfriend to my exes.'

'uh, how many exes do you have?' you ask and then giggle when he glares at you. 'kidding, kidding. yeah, okay. pinky promise.'

maybe it shouldn't be enough but it is. jihoon wraps his arms around you and you hug him back tighty, clearly pleased that he's not mad anymore. sighing, he kisses your temple. loving someone isn't easy, but not when that someone is you.

a/n: why do you guys don't come back and tell me what you think :( you request and then disappear and i'm saaad :( - nini

my other seventeen works are here

request your own here

[lafortezasboy]

TWO REVERSE.

adrianne lenker

— summary: it’s been a few years since you and sophia have divorced. because you both had a child, you’ve been paying child support in order to keep seeing your daughter…and sophia when you pick her up and drop her off. though, you both can’t deny that you both still love each other.

— warnings/tags: mom!sophia, gn!reader, sophia x man, use of “yn”, angst, alcohol, cheating if you squint, not proofread, cussing

— a/n: i keep thinking about mom sophia… also. i literally do not know a good girl name and i js…found one i think i enjoyed. why is it so hard to FIGURE OUT. WHAT TO NAME A CHILD. it’s because you don’t wanna regret it for the rest of your life i know. but it’s also like, “what would sophia name her baby girl?” ykwim. ☹️☹️ i js went with a girl name that. also means wisdom.

“i miss when you and mommy were together,” your six year old daughter, sonia, told you. it’s been a few years since you and sophia divorced. sonia knew this, obviously. she’s six and smart for her age. you looked at her in the rear view mirror and huffed slightly. it was a sunday afternoon and it was time to take sonia to sophia again.

“what about her boyfriend?” you asked her, eyes back on the road. “nick, was it?” sonia hummed softly.

“he’s not fun like you,” she replies. you smiled slightly and shake your head. you took it as a compliment.

“not fun like me, huh?”

she shakes her head with a pout, “i just wish you two would get back together.”

as soon as you ended up in front of the gas station where you and sophia usually met, sonia climbed out of the car as soon as it parked and sophia exited hers as well.

“hi, baby!” sophia greeted with a smile as she crouched, holding sonia in her arms as she finally reached her mom. sophia repeatedly kissed her daughters cheek, a string of giggle escaping her lips as she tried to take sophia off. you took this moment to head to the back and take sonia’s bag out, walking over and keeping a small distance between them.

sophia looks up after kissing her daughter’s cheek and cleared her throat, becoming more…professional, almost. she fixed her skirt and extended her hand to take the bag from you.

“thank you,” she said as she looked through the bag.

you gave her an awkward thumbs up before looking down at sonia.

“you have fun with mommy this week, okay?” you asked her, ruffling her hair as you moved down to her level.

she hums and moved her arms around your neck to hug you before pulling away and looking up at sophia.

“can we get donuts?” she asked her.

sophia stopped looking in sonia’s bag and shook her head.

“we can’t risk having any more cavities, baby,” she told her.

“oh, c’mon,” you chimed in. sophia looked up at you, her eyes slightly narrowing. “one donut can’t do much, can it?”

sonia hummed and looked up, nodding her head excitedly.

sophia looked down at her daughter and then back at you.

“yn.”

“she did win her last soccer game.”

sophia paused at your words and then back at sonia. she turned around and sighed, slightly annoyed before looking back at you two.

“one donut,” she gave in.

sonia cheered and rushed into the gas station. you smiled at sonia, beginning to head to your car before sophia grabbed your wrist.

“you’re coming, too,” sophia told you as she dragged you back and into the gas station with her.

“and paying,” she added in as she took you towards the donut display behind sonia.

you almost wanted to protest, but you were the one who told sophia that sonia could get one. you looked at the donuts with your daughter, not really noticing how sophia still held onto your wrist. she forgot as well, as she also didn’t know she was holding onto you subconsciously.

“which one should i get?” sonia asks quietly as she looked through the options. you hummed as you looked with her.

“don’t get any jelly or custard filled,” you decided for her. “it’s too messy and too sweet for those teeth of yours.”

sonia hums at your reply and pointed at a rectangle donut with white icing and rainbow sprinkles.

“that one!”

“is that one good?” you asked sophia, looking at her. she seemed to have spaced out, so when you spoke to her, her head snapped up. she looks up at you before down at sonia pointing at the donut and hums softly.

“it’s good,” she confirmed.

sonia clapped her hands and you reached with your free hand to open the glass door.

“can you grab the paper, sunny? and then grab the donut?” you asked sonia, pointing at the paper to properly grab the donut. she hums and takes the brown paper, reaching up and tip toeing slightly to grab at the donut she wanted. when she did, you closed the glass door and grabbed one of the bags, opening it as sonia placed the wrapped donut in and grabbed the bag from you. as the three of you walked to the cashier, sophia finally let go of your wrist, noticing how long she’s held onto you. she blushed faintly, but you didn’t notice.

finishing your payment and heading out, sophia looks at you as sonia headed to her car.

“can we talk?” she asks you as the car door shut.

“about…?”

“the visitation schedule.”

“it’s fine to me.”

the visitation schedule has always been the same. you take sonia during friday afternoons after school, saturday, and sunday mornings. it seems pretty fair as sophia has her for four days. though, she sighed at your reply.

“it’s not “just fine”,” sophia protested, her voice almost annoyed, “i want weekends too.”

confusion struck you. she had sonia for four days, even if it was half days for sonia. maybe she wanted a full day as well.

“then you can have sundays,” you decided, “i’ll take her on thursdays.”

“that isn’t enough,” sophia complained, crossing her arms.

in. sane.

“not enough?” you told her, getting pretty annoyed at this point too. “you have most days with her!”

“that doesn’t mean i shouldn’t get weekends too!”

“i’m offering you a sunday!” you exclaimed, “a fucking weekend!”

“i should get all weekends!” sophia stated firmly.

you let out a small laugh at her claim and you tried to calm down a bit.

“oh. my god — all weekends? sophia. sophia,” you stated with clasped hands and moving them to your mouth, closing your eyes.

“oh my god — listen, i love you and sonia so much, okay?” you began to explain. “but taking away my daughter on the weekends from me is fucking insane. you know that i work a nine to five, and maybe extra hours sometimes, so when i’m home, i barely have time to spend time with sonia because i’m fucking exhausted.”

“weekends are when i have my days off, the only days that i could have a full day with sonia, and now you want to take all of them away?” you asked her, your voice absolutely filled with confusion and frustration. this whole thing was confusing you.

“you taking that away from me is basically taking away my fucking happiness. and i understand that you also work like i do, and im offering you a sunday, but you won’t even take it.”

sophia stares at you, unable to speak. she didn’t even know how selfish she was being at this point. she completely forgot about your work schedule and the amount of time you spend with sonia.

“i didn’t think you wanted me away from her just yet.”

sophia shakes her head.

“i- it’s not like that,” she denies quickly. “i- i just wanted- just wanted to spend more time with her.”

“it sounds so much like it, sophia. did you hear yourself?” you asked her. you scoffed lightly and shook your head, trying your best to not show some sort of hurt in your eyes. sophia could tell she hurt you though. at your question, she didn’t answer, giving you a sign that she didn’t even know what she was saying. she was completely saying this out of nowhere.

“listen — we can talk about it next time you drop her off, okay? or just text me what you want the schedule to be.”

you turned your heel and sophia rushed up out of no where and took your wrist again. she turned you towards her and she paused before her lips spoke.

“i’m sorry,” she whispered quietly, looking up and then away. looking at you only made her more guilty about her earlier selfish behavior, turning on a switch that made her want to cry whenever she looked up at you.

“i didn’t think about your feelings — im sorry sorry, yn,” sophia said, trying to keep her voice steady which failed.

“just get sonia home, sophia,” you told her dismissively, taking your wrist away from her fingers. you didn’t forgive her in the process of your sentence. it only added more guilt into sophia’s stomach. she didn’t like how it made her want to pounce on you and apologize repeatedly, wanting to hear your comforting words like you would do back in the day.

sophia watched your face for a moment before she walked away back into her car, closing the door as she watched you walk away and into your own car before you drove off. she looked at sonia in the rear view mirror before turning to look at her.

“how was your donut?” she asked her, keeping her voice strong so that sonia wouldn’t notice her vulnerability. sonia raised two thumbs.

“good!”

sophia laughed softly and reached out, brushing off some sprinkled and icing.

“you chose a good one, huh?” sophia asked and sonia nodded with a hum. sophia smiled softly and pulled her hand away before buckling in her seatbelt.

“let’s head home.”

“there’s my soccer player!” you exclaimed as soon as you got out of the car. sonia rushed up to you, arms around your shoulders once more as you pulled her up and into the air before putting her back onto her feet.

sophia got out of the car, looking at the two of you with a soft smile before it vanished. she turned to her trunk and opened the back as you walked over to her with sonia.

“woah,” you commented as you grabbed sonia’s bag, noticing how it was a brand new bag.

“when did you guys buy a new one?”

“nick bought it for me!” sonia exclaimed. your heart nearly stopped at her words.

“really?” you asked her quietly, looking at her before back at the bag in your hands. sonia hums softly.

“we went to the mall on tuesday,” sophia informed you, watching as your eyes stayed locked onto the new bag. sonia’s eyes lit up at sophia’s information and she immediately rambled on about tuesday and nick.

you didn’t reply.

sophia could basically sense the jealousy coming off of your body. she didn’t understand why, but she did at the same time. she moved on. you haven’t. plus, that was the first bag you bought sonia, so having another man that wasn’t you replace it for her made you angry. it felt like a competition when it really wasn’t.

“yn?” sophia called your name out, her hand instinctively reaching to shake you but you pulled back. you handed the bag back to her and crouched down to sonia and she stopped ramble.

“i don’t think i can take you this week,” you said suddenly, “and i can’t take kids with me. i think you have to stay another week with mommy.” what were you doing?

sonia blinked a few times and she shook her head.

“b- but you said we’d go out to the zoo this weekend!” sonia said. “and you promised.”

“i…” you paused, “forgot about my business trip. i’m so sorry, sunny.”

sophia looked down at you. liar. you never had business trips, and you always remembered important things. you just got insecure because of a new man that entered her life, and she felt oddly annoyed that you weren’t taking your daughter because of this.

sonia’s bottom lip quivered. it was finally one of those days where you and her didn’t stay in the house all day and practiced soccer and play games. nonetheless, she hugged you and nuzzled into your shoulder.

“you’ll…take me next time though, right?” she asked you, trying her best to not to cry.

“of course.”

sonia let out a soft whimper and held onto you a bit tighter.

“i’m so sorry i made you and mommy drive all the way here, sunny.”

after a bit, sonia reluctantly let go of you and pulled back. sophia looked at her and patted her head.

“can you wait in the car, baby?” she asked her and sonia nods before looking up at you and waving before heading into the car. sophia put the bag back in the trunk and closed the back, looking at you right after.

“why are you lying to her?” sophia asked you, getting straight to the point.

“you can just lie to her because you’re jealous of nick, yn.”

“well, it wasn’t like i wanted to.”

“but you did. you can’t avoid nick forever.”

you felt yourself get more frustration and sensitive at the topic a bit. it was getting annoying.

“so what if i can’t?”

“how long are you going to, huh?” she asks you, stepping a bit closer. “you can’t keep ignoring the fact that i have a boyfriend. sonia likes him as much as i do, so you’re going to have to like him as much as we do so you can spend time with your daughter.”

“well,” you said, that frustration finally leaving your body. “if you and sonia like him, he might as well be sonia’s new parent.”

sophia stopped at your words with wide eyes and her heart in her stomach. did you really just say that? she took a breath in, trying to control herself.

“he is not going to be sonia’s parent. you should know that, yn,” she told you, almost scolding you at this point. it was petty. you were being petty about this situation.

“well, it seems like he’s trying to be,” you argued back, “and it’s working. is it not?”

sophia took a deep inhale, trying to not yell at you. you were being so stupid!

“yn — he isn’t ever going to be sonia’s parent!” sophia bursted out, trying to keep her voice down.

“you should know that you’re her parent and you will always be,” she said with a finger in the middle of your chest.

“you’re being petty and stupid.”

“oh okay,” you stated, “what if that shit happened to you?”

sophia paused and scoffed softly, “this isn’t about me. it’s—”

“if i got a girlfriend and suddenly sonia started talking about her to you, wouldn’t you feel the same way?”

sophia hesitated to answer. “no,” she lies, “because i’ve moved on.”

you blinked at her words. her strong words.

“whatever,” you whisper. “take her for as long as you want,” you stated as you waved your hand. “and tell me when i don’t need to pay for this anymore.”

sophia’s heart dropped and grabbed your wrist again before you could even head back to your car.

“you can’t possible mean that, yn,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “out of sonia’s life? really? just because you can’t move on?”

“well, i fucking mean it, sophia. because if nick wants to suddenly treat my daughter as his, he can fucking do that.” you ripped your hand away and headed back.

sophia felt her eyes water. were her contacts stinging her?

“you’re- you’re being stupid, yn!” sophia shouted, trying her best to breathe steadily. you were being so stupid. she heard your car door slam shut before your car started and you began to head out of the parking lot. sophia stood there, trying to calm herself down. you, out of sonia’s life and hers? it feels like a nightmare. one she knows she can’t escape.

so it’s been a day, whatever, but you found yourself in a bar venting to the bartender who really couldn’t care about your story.

“maybe just go apologize,” they suggested as they poured you another glass before moving around the serve others. you scoffed, grabbing the glass.

“apologize to her…” you said with a slurred tone, drinking the glass of beer. “what a dumb answer.”

now, you were outside by the entrance of the bar for air. you looked through your phone, noticing how blurry the screen was due to your intake of alcohol.

“maybe just go apologize.”

you stared at sophia’s contact. were you being stupid? you sluggishly pulled down the lock screen of your phone and you sighed shakily. 1 AM. you could be in your bed right now, sleeping with sonia in her room. or on the couch with a movie playing and sonia in your arms. not in a bar because you lied about your business trip. you felt your heart ache, your thumb sliding up and clicking on the phone button. you slid down the brick wall, bringing the phone up to your ear.

sophia, busy sleeping in her bed, heard her phone ring. who could possibly be calling her? probably nick… she reached over, sliding the button and brought the phone to her ear as she wiped her eyes.

“hello…?” she answered through a yawn.

your heart ached even more. she really answered you? your breath hitched as sophia called through the phone again for an answer and you immediately broke down.

“sophia…” you called her name through a sob.

sophia’s eyes snapped open and she sat up.

“yn?” she asked, “what are you—”

“‘m so sorry…” you slurred out, desperately wiping your tears with the back of your hand. “i di- didn’t mean what i said yesterday.”

“i still want to be there f- for you and- and sonia,” you hiccuped out, heavy breaths escaping. was it was vulnerability you got from the alcohol? or was it the truth?

“yn—”

“i’m sorry, sunny… ‘m so sorry…” you gripped your phone even tighter.

“where are you?”

you looked around your area and then up at the big neon sign and informed her of the bar. sophia immediately threw the covers off of her and rushed to get you.

“can you stay where you are?” she asked you through a panicked tone. you shook your head.

“don’t leave sonia alone.”

sophia stopped and she looked at the room to her daughters room. you were so concerned about sonia. it was endearing but annoying at the same time. you were in the streets of LA, vulnerable and drunk, and yet you were worried about your daughter.

“i can have nick…” sophia stopped. “i can have megan come over and watch her,” she changed her answer, mentioning one of her neighbors.

you didn’t say anything, only staying silent.

“stay there, yn.”

again, nothing.

“please.”

“okay.”

with the final word, you ended the call and tossed your phone on the concrete. sophia didn’t say anything more before leaving her house and repeatedly banging on megan’s door to watch sonia before heading to her car and down the road.

finally, after about twenty minutes, sophia finally ended up at your destination. she parked nearby and looked around the streets as she walked down before she saw you. “yn!” sophia exclaimed. she rushed over to you, crouching as she stared at your curled up figure with knees to your chest and slouched against the wall.

you looked up at her, your lip quivering before you jumped on her. lazily arms wrapped around her waist and head buried into her shoulder.

“i’m sorry — ‘m so sorry,” you said again. “i didn’t mean what i said about sonia or you or nick — i just- i just…” you couldn’t even finish your sentence. you ended up sobbing into her shoulder.

sophia inhaled deeply, shushing you like a child with a hand in the back of your hair.

“idiot,” she commented shakily, “what an idiot.”

she moved her face to the top of your head, closing her eyes as she embraced you. she continued to shush you, telling you that you’re okay and forgiven.

“i still want to be there for sonia,” you whimpered out, holding sophia even tighter. “please don’t stop me from seeing her.”

“no, i won’t. i wont stop you,” sophia assured you as she brought you closer. “i know you want to be there for sonia, and i won’t stop you for seeing her. you are her parent, yn.”

you whined a bit at her words, sobbing even more at her comfort and reassurance. she was so nice to you. even after being petty and stupid and stubborn. she’s so nice to you.

after a few moments, you calmed down in her arms, sophia pulled your head back with a hand on your cheek. she looked down at your puffy, red eyes and caressed your head softly as her other gently wiped away the wetness from your cheek.

“let’s go home,” she whispered quietly, kissing your forehead softly.

reluctantly, you nodded at her words. you reached for your phone before letting her carry you up from the concrete floor and having her bring you to her car.

— final a/n: hey…how we feeling. okay so, this one gave me that angsty gut feeling while writing so YAYYYYYY but also BOOOOO because it fell off a bit. i did get this story off of my bot and my interaction because it was LITERALLY SO GUT WRENCHING SO. yeah. it made me tear up a bit! so! i hope this was. good. yeah. this also might be one of my longest fics i cannot and must not lie

[kuiofficial]

Jinu x male reader

Reader is half demon and hides it from Jinu. He’s also an artist from Japan doing a collab and accidentally shows his marks. Jinu sees and comforts him showing he’s a demon too. Happiness ensues

Patterns

Jinu x half demon soloist male reader

Angst w/confort

⚠️ warnings: none

A/n: this is a little short because I wrote 2 fics right before this </3

You hated yourself for one single reason, being half demon. You had stayed hidden most of your life, and you preferred to keep it that way. But now that was gonna be hard to do as you shared an apartment with five other boys.

You were a soloist from Japan, a half demon one at that. You preferred to work alone, and produce your own songs but your manager decided to do a collab with a group from Korea. You really didn't want to do this collab as it required sharing an apartment with them throughout the recording. But your manager could care less, and he sent you off to go pack your stuff.

Most of the time you spent at the apartment was practicing in your room, you were too scared to interact with the others. But even being in your room didn't stop them from interrupting you with being loud. Their leader, Jinu, had always yelled at them to quiet down and you felt bad for him. But then you remember... you're a demon... you aren't worthy enough to feel bad..

Nightmares reoccur every night, and it's always the same one. You accidently showing your patterns off to your hundreds of fans, and then they call you a demon and try to kill you. You always woke up drenched in sweat, crying while hugging your knees swearing you were not like them.

However one night made you realize something.. You were practicing in your room just like you normally do, when you heard the door creak open. Looking up you saw it was Jinu, confused you furrowed your brows slightly. "Oh.. um.. I heard you practicing and wondered if you needed help with any of the lines.?" Jinu said, slightly mumbling. You stayed silent thinking for a bit, 'if I kick him out that would be rude, but I also want to be alone..'

Sighing, you allowed him to sit next to you on your bed. You felt the bed dip softly when he sat next to you. You felt nervous and tense around him, so you just pointed to a random line and said you had problems with the tone. Jinu leaned over your shoulder, making you tense up more because you were scared that he might see your patterns hidden underneath your hoodie.

Jinu however didn't notice you tensing up, "oh, this line? Why don't you try it first and then I'll help you." Jinu said, turning to look at you. You nodded slightly, then began to sing the line. Once you were finished, Jinu looked at you amazed. You were shocked at this, when suddenly Abby bursted through the room and quickly grabbed onto your hoodie. "HELP ME!! ROMANCE IS TRYING TO PUNCH MY ABS!!" He screamed, you looked shocked then realized he was slightly pulling your hoodie off of your shoulder, revealing your patterns. Quickly you covered your arm up, but it was too late, Jinu noticed.

Jinu rolled his eyes and told Abby he can deal with it by himself, sending the pink haired male away. After the door was shut, Jinu looked at you. "So you're a demon.. huh." He said, your eyes widened and you shaked your head no. You were helpless though, he already saw those familiar patterns. Tears began to fall, and you begged him to not tell anyone.

Jinu's heart ached slightly, seeing you so vulnerable when in fact he was a demon too.. Jinu put his hand on your shoulder, "you don't have to worry.. me and the others understand.." he said, you looked over confused. Then you saw the familiar patterns now covering his arms, neck, and face. Jinu looked ashamed of the patterns too, he looked sad...

You knew that he felt the same pain as you did, even if he didn't show it that well. After a bit you realized he looked like he was about to cry, so you quickly hugged him. "I-its alright.." you said trying to comfort him, he looked up at you hugging you back. You hugged for a few minutes, then after you guys felt better. Jinu opened his mouth to say something, but then stopped.

You knew what he was going to say, you could tell. "Don't worry Jinu.. I love you too.." you said, causing him to blush. No longer ashamed of the patterns covering your body, you and him kissed in the moonlight of your room..

Guys I hope this is better </3

[edgygayguy]

I want to throw my thoughts out there and gush about how good this update is even though there is no quest

SPOILERS FOR ISLEWEAVER OFC

Lore wise spiders appeared in Warframe a few times (Chains of Harrow*, Lettie using them as a metaphor for depression); the 15 fragments seem to be Rusalka's autobiographical version of the tales of Duviri: she ran away from her emotions untill she had nowhere else to go, nothing to "fill her life up with", and the indifference jumped at her moment of weakness. Ofc the spider (Wally) saying he could "eat up" all of her worries and finally eating her is just a perfect fairytale way to put her fate into words. Instead of fixing the things that make her sad, envious, angry, he "kills" her, then she can't feel bad anymore. Here's a KIM chat with Lettie that explains it well:

Drifter: You've mentioned the spiders before, a metaphor for depression, I assume?

Lettie: Ay si. Something I've had all my life. Stupid little things in my head that tell me lies. Little things that whisper to me things that I believe when I am too stupid and fall for it.

[...]

Lettie: Then you truly understand what it's like, mi corazon. They are little pinches cabronas. But they are liars remember that always. This kind of sadness is small but it can be a poison if you let it get too strong**. Mi mama had it all her life so I have seen the toll it takes.

Lettie: But here is why I call them spiders. Because you can take a newspaper can roll it up into a tube. And CRUSH THEM. They are small and easily broken.

Lettie points out that this destructive force (depression in her case, indifference in the story at large) is not that strong, but it's steady and unrelenting. Kinda like how the murmur's assault on Albrecht's lab is described in the codex. **I also think that Rusalka slowly poisoning herself with effervon is just another nice symbolic layer to this.

When she brings her self-poisoning up, she also says that the indifference offered her new life. It made a pact the same way it did with the tenno, catching her at the lowest point in her life. We have no idea what the nature of her (and ours tbh) deal really is so this is heavy speculation. I don't think Rusalka is all gone (the secret message for her parents and some of her dialogue in Duviri make it seem like she's working with Wally, instead of being a hollowed out meatsuit). The man in the wall is using her, she's sort of given up on herself. She saw no other way out of her situation in Höllvania. She ran off to Duviri with Wally believing there is no possibility of things getting better. The fragments are a tragic realization of what got her up to that point of no return.

*The story of the corpses on the other hand plays well with what we hear from Rell. He mentions baby spiders eating their mother. Wally definitely remembers this since he was stuck hyper focusing on Rell for a long time. Velimir's and Minerva's corpse entries? stories? what am I writing... are obviously both about parenthood.

Minerva's directly mentions baby spiders eating their mother to "become strong" (I don't remember well but maybe Erra says something like that to Lotus... the scope of this post is beyond me rn). I have a feeling that what Wally did with the Tenno was an experiment****. Nature vs nurture sort of thing. How would two identical children turn out if they grew up in totally different environments (Drifter and the Operator ofc). Idk why the indifference decided the parents must die in both cases, at that point, but since the void exists outside of time it's hard to say anything concrete really.

In Velimir's fragment the queen emphasizes how the parents turned on their children first, not just all adults.

(Screenshots from @tennospaceboots)

Tagfer theorized that Wally just wants to know about humans, the real world. So I don't think it's out of the question he used the Zariman as a fucked up experiment on human nature. I think the last line from Velimir's fragment speaks volumes:

The same crack runs through everything, kiddo, she explained. You want to deny it, that's on you.

I think what we see in these fragments is Wally speaking through Rusalka, as opposed to the fragments which are purely Rusalka. In that quote Wally gives his "thesis" on the human condition. Human nature is contradictory, as an outsider he sees all happiness as fleeting, and a cause for further suffering. He cannot wrap his head around this contradiction***, of love causing pain (parents holding themselves to a too high standard [the final secret Kim chat with Minerva and Velimir show that ultimately, even thought their family was torn apart, they still found peace], lovers separated [Albrecht and Loid]), he cannot see how it could be worth it. It's probably by his nature, he's the indifference after all. Makes me wonder if he considers, after seeing the differences between Drifter and Operator, if he could have been completely different if the circumstances of his "coming into being" were changed. If his body wasn't torn and stolen from him, used by unknown others, abused by Entrati. I prefer to interpret Albrecht's first meeting with the indifference as unfortunate, I don't think he could have reacted differently, he was probably like 2% as afraid as were the Cavia when he met face to face with Wally for the first time. I have plenty sympathy for him, which is why I love the story of Warframe so much. You can have sympathy for everyone EXCEPT THE OROKIN, THE HUMAN ROOT OF ALL EVIL.

***As a sidenote maybe that's why he hates us mixing elements into more complicated forms, symbolism etc. idk it's 4 am now.

****I think the line "No one has a greater imagination than a scared child" is backing this up, good God why doesn't the wiki have the quotes yet.... : (

I think when we find out more about his deal with the Lotus this whole thing will be more fleshed out. Is Wally saying (in the Minerva fragment) that we will learn that lesson by "eating" her? (Lotus eaters hello) I sure hope not. The sentients have the most cool, unusual and amazing family relations so I'm excited how DE will explore that.

This could be a whole fucking video at this point, Socratetris and Stallord I'm coming for your gig (no I'm not).

Now for the most important part of the post:

The forefathers of your forefathers looked into the shining heart of an atom, scribbled their clever equations, and ripped it apart. Did they spare a thought for the age-old love between proton and neutron? Or did they only think of the bountiful energy they could harvest?

I've been emotional about Warframe a few times but this hit me harder than a ton of Quorvexeseses. It's so simple yet so beautifully poetic I'm not even going to try to give a shitty explanation. Wally I love you and I'm so sorry.

And here I'll throw some random extra thoughts that are unrefined (I know the shit above is also unrefined but you know):

I think people have a tendency to overcomplicate things with Warframe's story, which I don't blame them, the story is a mess lol. But some of the theories I've seen on Oraxia's origin are jumping through too many hoops (am I a hypocrite now). I think she was a guardian Warframe for Entrati the same way Protea was for Parvos Granum. He was the most important scientist in the empire, seems logical that Ballas would give him a guardian.

Also wtf does Thrax mean that he was the most of a father we ever got.

A strange idea came into the Orphan's mind. The Queen knew at once that the Glory was at work within them, just as it worked within her, but she held her peace. - this line still puzzles me, ofc we see the indifference exercising control over Rusalka and the glory is a name the indifference chose for, well indifference, but what idea came into the orphan's mind?

It's kinda interesting that Wally himself seems kind of contradictive. If he's indifferent why does he even bother interacting with humanity? Why is conceptual embodiment a thing if the void "craves stillness, emptiness". He is so interesting. Maybe he wants to be human. He wants the contrast. He wants what he doesn't, and maybe even, can't have.

[bewitched-hours]

"hey fine shyt.." I say as I lean over the wall, my height towering you "can you make.. heh. Yan!paycheck x reader who's their local cashier.." my voice low and suggestive. ( Why did I write this. )

NO BECAUSE THIS MADE ME CACKLE- YOU'RE BRILLIANT-

Reader gets She/They hehehehe

Life's pretty... Boring?

At least that's what you'd call it.

Being a cashier wasn't entirely bad. You were lucky to have good co-workers and a... Decent boss...

But overall, it's pretty boring compared to how you imagined it growing up.

You obviously knew while growing up that you wouldn't become a dragon tamer or adventurer...

But a cashier? You really didn't know where to go in life but at least you had the qualifications to become a zoo keeper when you finally had the money to move.

Or maybe you could be a bartender? They make pretty good money too and you did work at a restaurant to mix drinks part-time before...

"Is everything alright?" A voice woke you up from your daydreams as you quickly looked around.

It was still morning luckily and only one customer in your line... Still embarrassing...

"I'm so sorry!" You began giggling awkwardly out of habit. But the man didn't seem to mind as you went on to scan his purchases. "Don't worry, I'm not a morning person either." He chuckled along.

You actually recognized him though. Elliot. He worked at builder brothers pizza and was a regular at your store specifically... He must live in the area.

You actually had somewhat of a friendship? He would often chat with you to the point your co-workers suspected he might have a crush on you and would tease you about it. Though, you just denied it and insisted it was because you were regulars at each other's workplaces so you could sorta bond over the similarities in your jobs.

But there was usually another regular... A fellow in black and white, Chance.

He was more flirtatious but usually didn't leave you much room to speak on yourself. You were too flustered to speak anyhow...

Usually, he was with Elliot and it was rare to not have one without the other in the store so you had assumed Chance must be busy... If it weren't for him approaching right as you finished giving Elliot back his change.

"'Scuse me~" He started setting down some general stuff for taking care of a bunny. You were honestly kinda excited because it meant hearing more about Spade, his bunny.

Elliot huffed a little playfully, waiting on Chance and helping him pack everything as you happily listened to them both talk about Spade to you. It was probably your favourite part of the day when they came in. It made your job a little more bearable between entitled customers and nosy boomers that somehow always insist on inviting you to their churches...

Today though...

"We actually brought Spade along for the ride today! How about you come see him during your break?" Chance suggested with a wink.

Normally, your gut would be telling you to call security but with how long you've known these two and the fact you've already exchanged phone numbers, you pushed any suspicion aside and nodded with excitement.

You've seen Spade in person a few times already and the large bunny fell head over heels for your petting sessions. He was practically darting for you whenever Chance let him roam around near you.

And true to your word, you decided to use your break to talk with them and pet Spade by their car. The black bunny was practically love-bombing you but you didn't mind. You were ready to spoil him rotten with love and perhaps that's what had the two guys obsess over you so much.

Oh, if only you knew how much blood they've spilled...

How many people have lost their lives because they've been rude or pushy and got too close for their liking.

How many pictures of you they've gathered when you weren't looking or oblivious. All those pictures are hung up in a special closet with your shrine in it, ya know?

Chance went all the way to first spoil Elliot with a mansion to live in together and now the two of them wished to spoil you with their obsession and love.

To smother you in kisses and praise until your face looks like a tomato, to watch you sleep peacefully in their arms or even dream about making sure you'd never leave the mansion again...

Maybe they could soon...

Their opportunity ended up being on a cold winter day. A Blizzard had surprised you and your co-workers during work and everyone was scrambling to close up and get home quickly as per your boss' orders.

You couldn't get home though. You were dependant on public transit and apparently the blizzard came in from the direction of your home so the area was already getting closed off.

Although hesitant, you began to dial Chance's number and ask if their car was still good to drive before you asked if he could pick you up and let you stay with Elliot and him until the blizzard's out.

You felt guilty for asking though and apologized with practically every step you made as you headed towards a local park where you could wait for him.

Surprisingly, he was already in the area! Must be your lucky day.

You thanked him a million times over when you sat in the comfort of his car before Spade suddenly made his entrance. Right, there was no way he would be around without that spoiled little bun.

It was oddly comfortable in their mansion. It made you almost feel like royalty as you looked around.

You had been here maybe only once or twice but it still felt so overwhelmingly beautiful... Like a safe haven you'd never want to leave...

How lucky you were today~

Elliot seemed to have already been home too and set you down on the couch by the fireplace with a change of clothes and Spade to keep you company before they both went to the kitchen and out of earshot from you.

Did you ever tell them your sizes? You must've but probably forgot, typical.

You decided to change in the bathroom and come back to pet Spade more, noticing a cup of hot cocoa on the glass table in front of the couch. A bit cliché but you weren't about to let their efforts go to waste.

Taking a sip, you noticed a few tiny marshmallows sticking out on top which made you giggle. It reminded you of how you'd make them during christmas at your place. You were sure to tease them on copying you later...

As if on cue, you had both Chance and Elliot cuddling up to you on either side of your body. You could feel yourself getting flustered and trying to distract yourself by petting Spade- who was less than happy by his dads taking your attention from him...

"Getting comfy, I hope~ Seems the Blizzard's set to last at least a week." Chance chuckled, sneaking in a few pets for Spade as you silently thanked whatever higher being that you lived alone and didn't have pets...

"Then I guess it's an extended slumber party." You joked, barely noticing the blush on both of their faces as you drank and felt your body relax.

Sandwiched between your two crushes, their bunny on your lap, an oddly sweet smell and a hot cocoa... Enough to make your mind melt...

Why should you worry anymore? You were safe and comfy, nothing to complain about as you drank up and let your head fall back when drowsiness took your mind away.

You shouldn't need to even think... Just stay with them... They'll take care of you and you'll get to pet Spade whenever you'd like... Just keep listening to those soft buzzing sounds and the allure of their voices...

Waking up, you found yourself with them in their bed. You panicked for a moment but you still had the clothes on that they gave you.

Actually... It kinda smelled like them. Maybe you could lay here just a little longer-

"Slept well~?" Or not.

Chance couldn't help but giggle as you sat up and loosely threw the pillow you were sleeping on over his face. "Relax~ You just fell asleep and we didn't want you to feel lonely~"

By that point, Elliot had woken up too and chuckled alone to your antics. "Careful, Spade is still here." He spoke softly, pulling your attention to the black bunny that had been resting against your back. That at least made you a little more relaxed as you huffed.

Although, you couldn't help but feel like something was off.

Like you were foggy in the brain or something...

Oh well, probably just drowsiness still wearing off or maybe the blizzard.

Lying back down to cuddle Spade, Chance let out a slight whine and cuddled up against your back with a fake pout. "C'mon darling, I just asked if you slept well~" Chance tried to get you to look at him while Elliot petted Spade and cupped your face with his free hand.

Something about the realization that they were both so close to you made your body warm up tenfold and they revelled in knowing that.

Really, you couldn't blame them for grinning. They had been planning for so long to take you. Even researching and spending money for a drug that could mimic the effects of amnesia selectively and allowed them to wait until the perfect moment and the blizzard just happened to give them that moment.

Now all they had to do was rework your memories and keep you nice and happily obedient for them so they'll never have to worry about someone even looking at you wrong ever again~!

Anything you'd like to request/ask? Check out my pinned post first and I'll be happy to write up whatever you want!

[zulashi-the-writer]

A Fever Dream

Romance x Girlfriend

Credit goes to therosettasun on TikTok

Summary: to love but never to forget, how could someone claim to love you but disappear when you needed them most

1st/2nd person pov

His eyes stared out into the crowd emotionless at the screaming fans, the bittersweet smile plastered on his lips as he blew out hearts then his eyes caught it the glimpse of something familiar, his heart fluttered seeing the sway of your hair, it couldn't be you, could it? He didn't get time to check as the red mist wrapped around his body taking him back to the demon world.

He couldn't get you out his head the thought of his past life resurfacing, all the memories flashing in front of his eyes, oh how he'd do anything to be back in your arms, to feel your warmth and hear your angelic voice say his name, but the remembrance of old memories comes fondness but also regret.

He'd look for you everywhere, hoping you'd be there looking straight back at him but you never were, all the girls screaming for his attention none of them could compare to you, he yearned to feel like that one more time to feel loved by you.

He decided to sneak away after the idol award trails following the exact route he used to take, his heart ached as he saw your favourite restaurant with a for sale sign blocking the door and the small playground you used to take him to sit on the swings with hazard warnings all over and the gate chained shut.

He wandered through every ally way, remembering everything that happened and watching the memories like an hallucination, from the kitten you found and nurtured cradling it in your arms keeping it from the rain to where you stood shouting at him when you were fighting, he was so lost in thought but his feet moved so perfectly knowing exactly where they need to go.

He looked at all the old things you pointed out when he'd walk you home, the neighbourhood kids that always played games on the sidewalk you boasted how the kids you would have together would win every single one, but the kids were no longer there they'd all probably in their teenage years now, a lump started forming in his throat as he started nearing your house.

He didn't even know you still lived there maybe it was his imagination playing tricks on him, maybe it was Gwi-ma being cruel, he tried swallowing the lump in his throat he peered around the corner his eyes softening as he saw your house, his heart fluttering as he saw all the modifications you spoke about, the beautiful colour garden that was maintained modestly, his steps faltered as he came to the path leading up to the door.

His eyes wondered over the porch, his eyes caught sight of the small engraving he made on the banister it was your initials in a heart his eyes squinted seeing another initial added he rolled his shoulders the feeling of uncertainty feeling him up once more, his eyes moved as he slowly stepped closer he saw the shoes he brought you for your birthday settled by the door frame he remember how you always wanted them but didn't have the money, his brows knitted together seeing pink kids show next to them, did you have a kid?.

A feeling of jealousy filled him, you found someone else? his eyes fluttered in sadness, he lifted his hand to knock on the door but his body froze what is he supposed to say 'oh I made a selfish deal with a demon king that's why I left you' he bowed his head in distress his eyes bolting up as he heard the click of the door his breath hitching as it opened, he didn't dare to blink scared that he was going to blink and you'd be gone.

"Yn" he watched your face panic, your chest raising up and down due to your shallow breathes "it's me" his voice was low just above a whisper he watched your eyes squint your eyes filling with curiosity then sadness "it can't be" your voice cracked your head turned as small footsteps charged towards you "mama" you bent down picking up your little girl keeping her close in your arms, Romance stood shocked seeing this little child with pink hair similar to his "is she..." the words caught in his throat.

Even you didn't know what to say he disappeared never said goodbye now he's here "uh-yeah" I murmured before whispering her to go play in the back she nodded quickly and ran off as I put her down "where did you go" I tried sounding emotionless but my sadness showed I hugged myself giving me a little comfort "I made a deal with a bad person" his voice dwindled "I'm so sorr-"

"No" I muttered interrupting him "you don't get to apologise, you left me when I needed you" I paused catching my breathe the anger boiling up in my chest "we needed you" I dropped my head to the ground tears streaming down my cheeks, my eyes stared at the ground fill of anger and confusion "why" I asked but he didn't answer I looked up glaring at him "why" I yelled pushing him making him stumble back.

He stared at me not saying anything his mouth opened and closed silently, he stood up straight composing himself "if I could go back in time I would my love, I never wanted to hurt you" his voice was soft holding so much emotion "but you did you weren't there you hurt me, hurt us" I shook my head weakly my body collapsing to the ground his body colliding with mine as he caught me holding me against him "I wish I was I swear, I've missed you every day" his tears slipped down his cheeks falling onto your hair.

My fists balled up his shirt as I pressed my face into his neck, my tears wetting his shirt "you left us" my words were hushed as he stroked my hair like he used to when I was stressed "I know" he said his voice breaking his lips shakily pressing a soft kiss against my head before taking in a shaky breath.

"I promise to never leave you again"

[sleepychenle]

wc: 1221. genre: angst, hurt/comfort. tags: non-idol au, slight mention of blood and scraped knees, running away. [a/n]: i missed writing for chenle (girl it's been only one fic). masterlist

you tried to find peace in the quiet streets at night.

never in your life you thought you’d run away from your home—from your house. because you couldn’t dare to call it home anymore.

you just needed fresh air, even though every room of your house was cold. you needed silence, but even when everyone was sleeping, you couldn’t find it.

now you’re walking through the poorly lit streets. it wasn’t of help that you didn’t bring your glasses, and that silent tears were starting to blur your sight.

…

chenle was just gazing at the sky. he had always admired its quiet beauty. his friends told him that he was crazy. you know the moon and starts won’t go anywhere, right? they never really understood.

he didn’t care about having neck pain from looking up for so long every night. they deserved it. the moon and starts deserved to be looked at, and he always thought people didn’t appreciate them enough.

…

you didn’t even know where you were going at this point. but you didn’t care… as if you could see anything at all. your feet kept moving as your thoughts kept racing.

all of a sudden, your body collides with something. you open your eyes, you couldn’t tell if you hit a tree or someone’s parked car.

before you could even figure it out, you heard someone nervously trying to get your attention. “oh god. are you okay?” you feel dizzy from the fall. the first thing you do is to look down at your knees that are now bleeding. and without even looking up to whoever you just crashed into, you break down.

“let me help you” you hear him say with a shaky voice, as he hooks his arms under yours to lift you up. you weakly stand on your feet again, still crying heavily. he guides you to a bench nearby, hissing when the back of your thighs touch the cold material. he quickly and without hesitation, takes off his jacket and signals you to stand up for a bit. he puts it under you and makes you sit on it, but that didn’t make you feel any better.

he stood still, scared. you were crying so much… did it hurt that bad? “wait here—i’ll find something to patch you up.” he jogged to the nearest drug store that, thankfully, was just across the street. he hated that he had to leave you alone, even for that brief moment.

you finally managed to look up when he left, calming yourself down and wiping your tears. you could see him going in and out of the store from time to time, to check that you were still there. you would’ve laughed at his worried expression if you weren’t feeling so bad right now.

in the blink of an eye, he was crouching in front of you, setting everything up to treat your scratched knees. “i’ll clean them up first with one of these,” he says, lifting up a packet of antiseptic wipes. “and then cover them up with this” he adds, holding up a roll of gauze. you looked at him quietly, hiccups slipping out now and then, as he softly explained every step.

until now, he hasn’t been able to look at your face for long, afraid you’ll catch him staring, even though he wasn’t doing anything bad. he just wanted to see how you were feeling without having to ask.

while he carefully wipes your scraped knees, you try to look away, hoping to trick your brain into not feeling the pain. that’s when he’s able to actually look at you, studying your expressions closely. and he finally realized you weren’t hurting much from the fall—it was something on your mind that was really weighing on you.

but of course, he didn’t dare to ask. why would you tell him, out of all people? so he decided to ask what he should have asked a long time ago. “what’s your name?” he sits next to you, wanting to look at you but also not wanting to make you feel more vulnerable than you probably already do.

“i’m y/n” you say weakly, as if the crying has worn you out. he smiles, and for a moment, you think you’ve never seen a smile so genuine. “i’m chenle.” you tilt your head, eyebrows drawn together as you try to sound it out. “chen…le?” you say in broken chinese, even though you didn’t know that’s what it was. he chuckles, finding the way you said it endearing.

you spend quite a while trying to figure it out. he’s surprised you’re actually trying to learn how to say it—as if you’ll need it sometime in the future. as if you’ll get the chance to say his name again. you try again—he nods, and the moment you realize you got it right, you smile. it’s the first time he’s seen you do that.

“can i walk you home?” he says as softly as he can, not wanting to sound like a creepy guy at all. “no… it’s okay, i’ll stay here for a while.” “please, let me. i won’t be able to sleep if i know i left you here.” “i don’t want to go hom—to my house” he now understands it all. “then i’ll stay with you until you feel like going back.” “what if i never want to?” you murmur, not looking at him, as if it was something to be ashamed of. “i don’t mind staying here forever.”

and he actually did. he stayed with you, teaching you about the moon and the stars to keep your mind off the tight feeling he could only imagine in your chest. you listened until there was nothing left to say. he never thought he’d run out of things to say about them.

you’ve both been outside for a while now, your head nodding forward every few seconds. “okay, fine. maybe it’s time to go” you mumble, rubbing your eyes. he gets to his feet and extends a hand, waiting for you to take it.

you both walk quietly toward your house. and somewhere along the way, you realize: your knees still hurt—but your heart doesn’t anymore.

“will i ever see you again?” he says, pulling you out of your thoughts. “is that what you want?” you ask, trying to appear nonchalant—but somehow, it comes out like a mix of surprise and hopefulness.

you notice how he starts to blush. “yeah… uhm—i mean, i’d like that… if that’s what you want, too” he says, nervously scratching the back of his neck. you nod with a shy smile. “that’d be nice.”

he couldn’t help but to sigh in relief when he heard you. he wondered how your voice would actually sound, without the remnants of crying your heart out. he was excited to hear you say his name again, hoping that next time, it would be a voice full of joy.

🏷️: @lyvhie @nebularsung

[chara-cat5]

lads isekai au ch 9

reader is gender neutral, warning: swearing, mdni

masterlist

first 1

previous 8

next 10 (not out yet)

you had been avoiding it for a whole week. "it" of course being a certain dragon and his kitten. every mission jenna brought up? you volunteered. mia wants to walk home together? sorry, i have training with xavier! you came home late and left early all in the name of avoiding her.

how? how are you gonna have this conversation? to explain why you know so much? how you know sylus? and the twins? hell, everything about all of them??

you let out a huff as you shifted in your seat, feeling mia's eyes on you from her own desk. it wasn't fair to her really. she didn't do anything wrong. if anything, she probably felt betrayed by your silence... but you had just started this life here. just settled into to a rhythm with the world around you. and then sylus had to fuck all of it up!

a folded note fell on your desk and looking up, you spotted mia walking away, a frown on her face. you were hesitant, but you unfolded the note, chewing your lip as you read it.

'i get that you want space right now, but i miss you... we don't have to talk about it. i can wait till you're ready. just come home after work? please?'

fuck... how do you say no to that? you felt like a shitty lover who was always out cheating or some crap. bouncing your leg, you glanced up, meeting her gaze as she stared at you. she perked up like a freshly watered flower when you nodded slightly, a half smile tugging up her lips.

oh boy.

mia did as she promised, ignoring the elephant in the room and instead filling the silence with what she's been doing. it was nice hearing her chatter after avoiding it for a whole week. she talked about her missions, a doctor's visit, a chat she had with rafayel, normal things. once you got home, the two of you got caught up on your show, two episodes having come out since your last watch party. at some point you fell sleep, head dipping into the couch cushion, despite your fight to stay conscious.

---------------------------------

"... be quieter! you'll wake them up!"

you caught yourself before your eyes could flick open, mia's hissed whisper yell drawing you from the drowsy embrace of sleep.

"it's fiiiiinnnee. you know they sleep like a rock."

"not lately..."

you felt a wave of guilt, well aware that you've been stressing mia out all this time. if it wouldn't ruin everything, you really would come clean. trying to so as casual as possible, you stretched your limbs, eyes still screwed shut as you shifted from your place on the couch.

"oh shit-"

"see! you dumbass!"

you opened your eyes, feeling your blood run cold at the sight. another wench in your plan.

caleb.

mia didn't seem to catch it, padding over in a rush, blocking him from sight with her body.

"sorry for waking you up, i tried to tell a certain someone to stay quiet, but you know he never listens."

she shot a glare over her shoulder, caleb giving a playful shrug. his sunset gaze met yours, a smile tugging up his lips, his gaze almost soft.

"hey poppy, sorry 'bout waking you up."

you sucked in a breath, eyes wide and owlish. right, shit- you have history with him.

"o-oh it's fine, how are you doing, caleb?"

the two seemed a little surprised by your reaction, caleb slowly putting down his bag on the counter.

"how am i doing? thats your greetin'?"

mia bit her lip, leaving you to go back to the kitchen.

"they just woke up, give them time to process."

you blinked, eyebrows furrowing. what did that even mean. caleb pouted, shooting mia a look.

"first time they see me since i 'died' and they don't even care."

oh.

"don't you dare say it like that, caleb xia!"

"what? it's true!"

before they could full on squabble, you bit the bullet and jumped up and hugged caleb. he let out a soft oof as your arms squeezed around his waist, a smell of applewood and warm cotton wrapping around you. it really wasn't so bad. in fact, it felt really nice, especially when his arms came down to wrap around you too. you had been forcing yourself to be distant to these men you romanced in the video game, but there was a real comfort in letting yourself bask in your feelings. in just receiving attention from someone you gave so much attention to. your shoulders slumped as you squeezed him tighter. god, you hadn't let yourself really relax all week and it really had built up. you basked a little too hard in your feeling though, walls tumbling down as tears pricked your eyes.

"oh- hey, hey, it's okay."

you felt his voice rumble up from his chest, his hand rubbing over your back. you pressed yourself closer, hiding your face and feeling ridiculous for crying.

"look what you did! i told you not to say it like that!"

you heard mia's scolding and pulled away, wiping at your eyes.

"s-sorry..."

"don't apologize."

mia and caleb spoke over each other, both full of gentle scolding. mia came up behind you, her arms wrapping around your waist and chin resting on your shoulder.

"it's okay, poppy. you should've seen mia when she saw me."

mia let out a huff and you just knew she was glaring at him.

"they don't need to hear abou that. i think, what they need is an apology."

he sighed, slumping against the two of you. you let out a squeak, squashed between their two bodies.

" 'm sorry, poppy flower. i have my reasons, but i didn't mean to hurt you."

"i-i forgive you. now can you let go? i'm being crushed here."

he let out a chuckle, instead lifting you up entirely. you let out a scream while mia let out a sound of protest, her hand catching your arm.

"hey!"

"sorry, pips. they're mine now."

"no! give them back!"

what is going on???

.

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entity [user] e̵n̸- encounter entity [caleb]

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affinity level [2̸̧̦̬̺͇̮̟̎͜0̸̙̼́͆̋͂̋̂̒̐̈́]

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taglist: @sleepisfortheweakpooh @plzdonutpercieveme @young-adult-summer @mentaltrouble2201 @noxus123 @asakiyu @leftpoetrymoon @hon3yydew @anemobabygirl @clandestienly @crimsonrubie @beaconsxd @yuurisfavblog @cutiesgaloree @udejoenrlddo

heya!!

i made a q & a post (didn't taglist cause i didn't want it to go like, "oh new chapter 😁... this isn't a chapter😔)

but heres a link

hopefully it makes a few things clear and i'm happy to answer anything else that isn't coming across!!

i by no means see myself as a skilled writer, so it makes sense holes are already popping.

[edit] misclicked mature content apparently??! idk

thank you for reading!!

-chara <3

[inkdetect]

I appreciate your explanation however I’m still confused as to why they would represent Ivan and Till’s relationship as Ivan forcing Till with Till trying to get away if Till did like him back? I do agree that it’s interesting they’re facing each other with their mouths aligned (smth to do with words?) but eyes not aligned (can’t see eye to eye) in the “intro” to that scene rather than Till just ignoring Ivan entirely

Idk most perception I’m seeing of that scene is negative even from other people who ship Ivantill so it’s really hard for me to wrap my head around it since it’s meant to represent their relationship overall

Hello! I'm doing alright, just getting hit by the AO3 curse. I hope you're doing okay too!

Thanks a lot for asking, you're really making my day, and YESS this is an amazing question! I was wondering if you wouldn't mind me explaining two different points- but I promise it'll explain your question, in a way.

First thing we could start with:

-> Ivan's perfect mask and his self-deprivation

Now, let us start by stating that Ivan is the king of performances. He's an excellent student, a 'submissive pet', a fan's favorite, he was made and forced to keep a smile on his face and stay put as 'practice'. He's practically perfect at moulding himself for others' expectations.

He's more of a trophy than a human, a pet, or more like a dog. He says it himself, in his song 'nowhere', which is pretty interesting to dissect when it comes to learning about Ivan's character and personality- somebody has mentioned that Vivinos herself confirmed that Ivan's personality is the worst out of the entire cast (not necessarily bad or evil!).

His mask is a perfect structure, it's his flaw, weakness and it's a factor that enables the miscommunication between him and till. He can barely be honest with himself, let alone with the muse of his obsession.

I mentioned this in my first analysis- how Ivan often goes from being violent to very affectionate, and why that confuses and freaks the hell out of till.

-> Ivan only does that because he doesn't know how to express his emotions, and that was implied in some comics where he pisses off others just for the sake of it, and as a form of love (or entertainment).

There's also the fact that he was raised in the slums and never knew what affection felt like. So he doesn't know how to express it sincerely.

He's self-sabotaging, self-loathing, and thinks of his love as something parasitic, greedy and selfish.

He still loves till. Because as mizi said- ''I know my love was different from yours, but it was love too.''

He still wishes for till's freedom and happiness, he still wanted him to live, he still wanted him. But he can't try to explain that to Till when they're on limited time. Not when Till hopes for a different kind of healing that Ivan can't provide, and vise-versa.

Alien Stage is about love. Its sin, its effects, its toxicity, its mercy. All relationships are painted in a good and bad light, they all have their flaws, so none of them are really supposed to be perceived positively. It's a bunch of worst case scenarios to show that despite it all, there's still a glimmer of hope for all.

So for those who need to hear this: I'm pretty sure that all ships have to be understood- it's a moral lesson, not dolls for us to meddle and play with, they're not just 'fan service material'.

As I said in the other Ivantill analysis, I fully believe that their relationship is more unrealized than unrequited, because it's a two-way rejection.

-> So why does Till look like he's being forced? Why does he look so distressed?

After all, we know that till wears his heart on his sleeve, he's a very emotional character, that, we know of.

-> Let us not forget that Till is an abuse victim, we saw many instances where he was being exploited, abused, trained and was beaten within an inch of his life. So he doesn't react well to either affection (for instance, mizi's light) or violence.

Though, It's interesting how Till lets Ivan in his personal space without much struggle.

-> He's scared, confused and never fully understood Ivan. So when Ivan, with all of his self hatred and fear, tries to show Till his love and give it to him, and doesn't give him the chance to even understand as he shoves it down, and Till who is startled and simply just wishes to see eye to eye, finally collapse and meet, the heart shatters under Ivan's trembling jaw and tears and Till's struggle.

But Ivan can't love someone properly if he doesn't love himself. And Till can't love him if he isn't ready to come front. Ivan literally took his love confession to the grave.

It's why they're tragic, if they had enough time, if they were willing to try, they would have. They could have.

And for those who need to hear it again: simply calling their relationship ''sexual assault'', instead of trying to analyze and understand how they both gravitate towards each other yet stilled ruin another, doesn't make you a genius.

You don't classify things in black and white boxes.

Relationships are complex.

The characters are complex.

That still doesn't make them bad, or negative.

They're on an alien planet and it's been confirmed that they ALL know that they're going to die, obviously that's going to screw them a bit up.

I hope that this was a good explanation? Honestly I've just explained previous points again and extended them to a conclusion.

It's also hot as hell, I believe that I could manage to cook an egg on the pavement outside. But if there's anything that 's still blurred or unclear, feel free to ask! Thank you for the ask!

[alexanderlightweight]

Its wednesday my people....

Here is a prompt for you if you feel so inclined.

In the AU where Imogen makes jace the HOTI could we have jace fucking it up big time to the point he gets demoted again and when the clave investigates why he was given the NYI Imogen gets sacked or something? I just have an image in my head of the clave begging Alec to take control again and he just keeps living his best life with his Magnus.

Thanks my friend.

P.S. everytime i get notifications that you posted i just speed to my apps looking for it so i can hoard it like the squirrel from Ice Age LMAO

it has been a bit but finally am getting to this! here is the last bit

<3 that poor squirrel. i hated how the poor squirrel never really got their acorn to safety because things just kept happening. so i hope you have better luck!! and i hope you enjoy

<3 lumine

guided by my unchained heart

Alec finds himself at a loss, because of all things, he didn’t expect a miserable looking vampire to be on his doorstep.

“Why are you here?”

“Wow you really are living here.”

Alec blinks, because that is not an answer to his question.

“Oh, uh. Izzy asked me to? But also because someone else asked her? I don’t remember the name and Izzy didn’t repeat it. Just that I should—”

“Wait.” Alec interrupts the vampire with one palm up and rubs his face with his other hand.

Alec did not need to deal with this.

In fact, he is distinctly not dealing with this.

It’s with a memorized sequence of taps that he activates the record player and he pours himself what he knows isn’t an actually martini but sure as hell looks like one.  It also tastes like one. In that it tastes vile and mostly of the same way the sterilizing alcohol in Izzy’s lab smelled.

At the same time as he’s getting double vision from the fumes of his drink, he pens a quick fire message to Magnus.

The pillar of demon flame that parts the room with a curtain as Magnus steps through a portal before the sparks of message have fully ebbed fills Alec with relief.

Perhaps it was a little over the top to send a fire message that simply said help. However Alec is not emotionally prepared for this and therefore, he’s not going to handle it. Magnus promised him and Alec is holding him to it.

“Deal with it, please.”

Alec knows he sounds dismissive but this particular vampire means the Institute and his family and both are a stress he is not yet willing to deal with.  Alec’s rage runs cold and yet it broke.  The fury inside him is an avalanche waiting to be unleashed and bury everything in its path.  No less destructive that a wildfire or a flame vortex for all that it differs.

Magnus presses a kiss to his cheek as he passes, lips warm and possessive and the fire smolders and wanes but doesn’t completely wane as he steps closer to Simon.

—

“Who sent you.”

“Uh, does that matter more than why I’m here?”  Simon feels strangely out of place and its not even because he just had to talk directly to Alec Lightwood who happened to be wearing a chain? An ankle bracelet? A sparkly magical ankle monitor with leash?

Simon’s not sure what it is and it’s not something he was expecting but Alec is clearly more than fine since he just somehow reverse summoned Magnus Bane with metal stick and is ordering him around.

“Of course it does.” Magnus eyes him like a hungry wolf eyes a poor little newly turned vampire and then his eyes turn to the golden gaze of a predator, slitted pupils and all.

Simon nearly hyperventilates before remembering he doesn’t need to breathe, but he also wants to stay alive and unbreathing and Magnus feels decidedly more threatening than even Mr. Grouchy over there.

“Izzy asked me to come as a favor. She said your door would be more open to me than to her, which is weird. Because Alec’s living here right now, right? And why wouldn’t Izzy or Jace be allow—” Simon cuts himself off because in the background Alec has finished his drink and instead of pouring a second one, he looks like he’s trying to figure out how to best use it as a weapon.

Probably against Simon.

Magnus doesn’t look like he needs a weapon.  His gaze is strong enough and displeased enough that Simon can feel it slowly stall his senses until his body stutters without permission. 

“Alexander isn’t taking social or work calls, at the moment. He’s on something of a—” Magnus’ eyes glow like the lure of an angler fish and his mouth opens in a smile just as sharp as their maw. “Well, I suppose you could call it a sabbatical from life. Since he’s already retired.”

Simon feels as if he’s missing some very important information and is suddenly a lot more hesitant to continue asking questions.  Especially when Magnus looks so very dangerous and Alec… Alec is no longer in view. The sudden beating of his heart is a forced instinct and Simon barely manages to stammer out a goodbye and then he’s gone.

—

The door slams on Simon’s way out as he leaves and Magnus watches him go only until the wards shift around his absence. Then he hunts down Alexander.

It’s always easy to find him, the platinum tether that binds him via magic rather than mere physics ensure that Magnus will never have to wonder where his boy is. 

He finds Alexander in one of the library, sitting on the circular window-seat and drinking something with a grimace while he watches the people of New York with empty eyes.

“You don’t even like that.” Magnus means to scold but it comes out in a soft, exasperated sigh and he snaps his fingers, switching it out for something that won’t traumatize Alexander’s taste-buds.

Alexander sends him a dark scowl and Magnus raises a brow.  Sometimes he will admit, he lets Alexander get away with quite a bit, however he’s not in the mood to end up listening to Alexander complain about how disgusting Magnus’ liquor is later. Especially when Alexander only finds it disgusting because he doesn’t know how to mix drinks.

At all.

It’s only the fact that most alcohol tastes terrible to him that he remains oblivious to this rather important information.  Something Magnus has willfully kept from him, despite suffering some rather vile — if not potently strong — drinks. Because Alexander is adorable when he is making drinks and thinks he’s succeeded.  Also, eventually his boy is going to make a drink for Ragnor and Magnus will be there to enjoy the trauma of it.

The scowl melts the minute Alexander takes a sip, as if the tart and sweet drink have momentarily wiped away the complications of his night.

“Izzy sent him. The Clave through her, though nothing signed just yet. It’s still at the level of a favor, not a commission, not that he knows he’s being used. Still, he’s gone and I’ll ensure he won’t return but they’re moving already.” Magnus doesn’t like the fact that official movement is beginning to be made.  It’s only been three months, he thought he’d have longer before he needed to ensure Alexander properly tied to him.

Not just bound by physical and metaphorical chains.

“Then we’ll need to move faster. The magic is almost ready, isn’t it?”

The way Alexander cocks his head, nothing but steadfast faith, truth and expectation in his gaze has Magnus’ magic surging with delight.  The confidence in him, it’s empowering and the best thing is, Alexander is right to trust Magnus.

“I can have it ready tonight.” Magnus promises and he can, especially when he and Alexander have been feeding the ritual with magic every chance they’ve had for three uninterrupted months.

AN:

Alec is actually begging not ordering. Simon is just clueless to their context. Magnus is aware and hates the fact that Alec is feeling vulnerable in their own home. Alec opened the door because the ward signified it was a familiar downworlder and at the beginning he did handle a few pickups for magnus. This is BEFORE the clave makes the mistake of trying to steal alec back from magnus who clearly ‘kidnapped him’. Because no one wants to admit alec resigned.

simon is trying so hard 'not to think about it' (it benig the chain)

alec is trying very hard not to implode. he angy.

magnus just wants to have his alexander is peace, thank you very much. he wanted to do this consort courtship properly and they're still having to rush. he is displeased.

alec went off to try not to panic by himself until magnus could come cuddle him. because he's like 'don't kill the messenger... it would send a message... okay but would it send the right message?' and he knows he's not in the right mindframe to be making choices like that. plus, magnus promised to handle things if alec trusted to leave them to him.

he's letting go and trusting magnus to handle it. he's just also now zoning out. he does not actually people watch, for him it's like watching a line of ants not because the ants are interesting but because they are moving and caught his eye